and all the sinners saints
by Samantha Bridges
Summary: Aislinn O'Keefe has had no shortage of violence in her life, but now that she's fallen in with the Brothers, will her past catch up to her? Please read and review.
1. Chapter One

_A/N: For what its worth, and not that I'm expecting it to garner me any mercy, this is my first dabble in Boondock Saints. Obviously, Connor and Murphy MacManus, Il_ _Duce, Agent Smecker, Detectives Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly, and Father Macklepenny do not belong to me, but are the wonderful creations of Troy_ _Duffy. (If Connor were mine I'd be greedy and wouldn't share him with anyone. lol) However, Aislinn O'Keefe, her relations, and assorted others DO belong to me, and I tend to be rather protective of them. No copyright infringement is intended, just a little tale for entertainment. _

**…_and all the sinners saints…_**

_**Chapter One**_

_Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.  
__-Haile Selassie_

_We must use time wisely and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right.  
__-Nelson Mandela_

'Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee…' a chorus of young voices rose in the warm summer air, dancing on the breezes with the butterflies that flitted through the garden. They were seated in the shade of a great oak, circled about the feet of a young woman who sat on a folding chair. She smiled as she recited the prayer with the children, rubbing the rosary bead they were on between her fingers.

'And blessed art thou, amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thou womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.'

'Amen.' A distinctly male voice ended the prayer, bringing all gazes up at him. His back to the sun, his features obscured in the shadow, but his identity was easily told. He hunkered down as the children turned to face him, earnest faces upturned.

'Good morning, Father Macklepenny.' They chorused and he smiled at them, then looked up to their shepherd for the day. She smiled back at him as she tucked her crystal rosary away in a little velveteen pouch. He noted that the children all held plastic beaded rosaries in their hands.

'Are you all listening to your lessons today?'

'Yes.' Came the resounding chorus. They were all between five and seven years of age, the youngest group of children for the all day bible camp the church was offering this summer. A few of them looked away from the young priest to the young woman who was rising from her folding chair, one hand resting lightly on the back. Dappled sunlight shone on copper hair, and her time in the sun was evidenced by a prominent scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A classic Irish beauty, Father Macklepenny noted, as she smiled at him once more. Had he not heard God's calling he was sure she would be precisely the woman he would have fallen for, him and a hundred other Boston Irishmen.

The children rose as Father Macklepenny rose from his haunches, brushing his trouser legs as he did so. She was such a quiet and private woman, and seemed to give herself to the church. There was nary a day when he did not see her seated in the far back pews of the early morning mass, lips silently mouthing words as the rosary beads slipped through her fingers. It struck him then that he had never seen her without her rosary, either. Such a pious woman, she would have been well suited to the sisterhood, had she chosen that path. He found himself wondering why she hadn't, and as he did so briefly met her eyes. Turbulent pools of blue grey, almost he color of a stormy sea. Something deeper in those eyes, spoke of pain, something… horrible.

'Father, are you all right?' she had blinked, one hand coming out to touch his shoulder, concern replacing anything else he had seen in her eyes. The children were standing silent at their feet, a few shuffling impatiently in the grass, scuffing their shoes.

He collected himself, drawing a deep breath and smiling awkwardly. 'Fine, thank you, Miss O'Keefe.'

She folded her chair and picked it up, waving her free hand at the children, ushering them along as she stepped out of the shade. In the warm sunlight her pale skin was even more pronounced, as was the fire in her hair. Macklepenny may have been a priest, but he wasn't dead. Her silhouette was wonderful and he let his gaze stray along her curves for a long moment. Something no more than an odd feeling made him look up as they and the children crossed the wide green lawn surrounding the church. His eyes drifted over the roofs of the assembled cars of mothers in the parking lot waiting to pick up their children to the wide imposing doors of the church. Miss O'Keefe and her flock didn't seem to notice his agitation as they continued onward, some of the children waving and beginning to run across the grassy expanse. There were two young men standing outside the church doors, both dressed in blue jeans and black pea coats. One of the men wore a pair of dark shades and casually turned to look in Macklepenny's direction. Memories that had been locked away for five years tunneled to the surface in the Father's brain as he stared almost gape-mouthed at the pair.

Miss O'Keefe had guided the last of her children to the waiting mothers in the parking lot, exchanging brief greeting with most of the women, many who were her own age. She opened her mouth to say something to Father Macklepenny, turning and looking over her shoulder, unaware that she had lost him some steps back. She blinked as she saw him rooted in the grass, as still as the oak they had been sitting under. She excused herself from the mothers and children around her and went to the priest.

'Father Macklepenny?' She questioned, coming nearer. He looked at her and for a moment he didn't seem to recognize her. He blinked and looked back up to the church doors. The men were no longer there. Almost panicking he scanned the area for them and spotted them walking down the far side of the parking lot, skirting the gathered horde of women and children. O'Keefe shaded her eyes against the sun and looked where he looked, watching the men. Something in the back of her mind told her that she should be afraid of two men dressed in black, especially around such an innocent crowd. However, something stronger and indefinable told her that these men would never harm such a gathering, but would rather much protect it. Sheepdogs watching intently over the flock, ready to drive away the wolf, and if need be, to kill it. Even at this distance, she felt her gaze lock with one of the men, and she noted the slight misstep in his stride as he caught the contact. He held her gaze for a second longer then donned a pair of dark shades, such as those his companion wore. They cast one more glance about the arrayed people and turned out of the parking lot and walked off down the street. Aislinn O'Keefe felt a curious chill run through her, not at all unpleasant, but almost… nice.

'Who are they, Father?' she found herself asking before she could think about the question. From the troubled look on Macklepenny's face it was not the right question to ask.

'Troublesome men,' he drew a deep breath and looked as if he were mentally crossing himself. His eyes steeled as he spoke again. 'Sinners.'

He nodded curtly at Miss O'Keefe and walked off towards the church. She watched him and wondered what the men had done to cause such a reaction in this normally gentle and compassionate man.

.-.-.-.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Chapter Two**_

_Somewhere in the darkness a child cried out. Beneath a cloudless moonlight midnight sky, a woman took her last breaths as the child looked on. Somewhere in the darkness, a soul met its maker while another descended into the fires below._

_In the silence that followed there was a thin whisper, high pitched and dripping with unshed tears. A jingle of chain, the sound of crystal beads sliding against one another. Footsteps pausing and turning back to the whispered prayer; a shroud of cigar smoke rises about the figure as he watches the child edge closer to her mother's slain body. He takes a step closer, silently holstering the gun in his hand, quietly leaning in to hear the child's voice._

_'I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord;' She choked, a sob escaped her but she steeled herself and continued on. He took another step closer, head cocking to one side as he stared at her intently. 'Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried.' The little girl took a deep breath and began again. 'He descended into hell; the third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into Heaven, and sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come again to judge the living and the dead._

_'I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting.' She paused a moment and he heard the beads click quietly as she continued reciting her rosary. Fifty nine prayers whispered into the night, ascending into heaven, and possibly to fall on God's ears. He lost track of the time he stood there over her, dark figure in the night, avenging angel and devil incarnate, depending on the light in which he was viewed._

_She turned to him, and he saw the red crystal beads glow ethereal in the moonlight, and saw the round pale moon reflected in deep grey eyes. She stared at him for a long time, neither moving, barely daring to breathe. She rose from her knees, draped the rosary around her neck, and walked towards him. She looked up at him, and he saw the great pain that she now tried to hold inside, lest it escape and wash her away._

_'They're dead.' She whispered, unsure of her words, she repeated the fact with a bit more conviction. 'They're dead.'_

_How could he reply to this statement from this little girl? She knew the truth of the fragility of our lives, knew now the horror and suddenness of death. She was looking for an affirmation from him, nothing more, he realized. He nodded as she stopped within an arm's distance from him, looking up at him, waiting. 'Aye,' he whispered, surprised that his own voice had fled from him. 'Aye, they are.'_

_'My mother…' She sniffled, and looked back to the woman bathed bloody in the moonlight. His heart went out to her, she had been stripped of her innocence far too soon; she should not have seen this. This shouldn't have happened. Slowly he bent and gathered her into his arms, holding her close to him as he walked towards the body. Carrying her he was reminded of his own sons, close in age to this little girl. He had to do what he could for the little girl, and her mother's soul. He set her down in the spot she had just abandoned and he knelt next to her. The little Catholic girl she was she went to her knees, hands clenched earnestly and head bowed._

_'And shepherds we shall be, for thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, so that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. We shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be.' He made the sign of the cross, and saw the girl echo his motions out of the corner of his eye, the silver crucifix grasped in her small hand. 'In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.' And for a moment time seemed to stop._

_The little girl rose and took a step back from the body, crossing herself again. She looked at him with something deeper in her eyes, something deeper than the pain and emptiness that surely welled in her soul. 'Who are you?' she asked, and to that, he did not have an answer._

.-.-.-.

She awoke with a start, arms lashing out, entangled in sheets against which she fought. She kicked until the sheets had been dislodged from both her body and the bed itself. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she sat there, awash in moonlight that steamed through the window above her bead. The slanted light fell on the wall opposite her, illuminating a cross that had been nailed there when she moved in. Running a hand back through her hair, Aislinn slowly rose from the bed, trying to steady herself from the dream she had just awakened from. It had all felt so real, as if she had moved back the space twenty six years in her life. She half expected to lift her hands to her eyes and see her mother's blood there. She walked across the room, and stood in the moonlight, staring at the cross. She had given up years ago asking why, knowing she would never get an adequate answer. Her gaze drifted to the picture of her mother, just visible on the adjoining wall. She was frozen in time, smiling, happy, a cloud of curly cinnabar hair about her head, like a fiery corona. Green eyes ablaze with life, freckles strong across her pale Irish face. And the two little girls in the photograph with her, one who looked like a spitting image of her mother, curls and smiles; and the more serious child, lighter hair and blue grey eyes that seemed to pierce you as you looked at her. There were many times in her life that Aislinn had wished she had been her sister and not herself.

Sighing she looked away and padded down the wrought iron spiral staircase to the bathroom below. She didn't bother with the light as she turned on the faucet and ran cool water into her cupped hands. She splashed some one her face, hoping to chase the last remnants of the dream from her mind. Aislinn picked up her watch and peered at the glow in the dark hands. Two fifty three; too early to be up and too late to go back to bed since she'd be up in three hours anyway. Another sigh escaped her and she went out towards the living room. Flopping on the couch, she grabbed for the remote, knowing that shed find nothing entertaining on. All Aislinn really wanted was the sound, something to reassure her that she was firmly seated in reality again.

The dead dull eye of the television snapped to life with the push of a button and she stared blankly at it, flipping through channels. News from oversees, televangelists, infomercials, sitcoms, and movies no one wanted to see anymore. She heard the words 'South Boston' in passing and she thumbed back to the channel. She saw the place she call home leap into the screen before her. It took her a moment to stop focusing only on the screen and to listen to the announcers voice. God, was she really that tired? She shook her head and tried to listen, even though it was difficult to follow both words and pictures at the moment.

'…violent string of murders five years ago in this city. The killing spree came to a violent head in the courtroom three months after it had begun, with the murder of Mafia don 'Papa Joe' Yakavetta.' The narrator paused and the picture on the screen changed from the overview of Boston to the steps of the courthouse, the piercing ring of the fire alarm suddenly interrupting the reporters monologue. The camera swung away and focused on the building, capturing all of the people on the steps frozen in place, staring at the facade. Minutes passing, voices of the anchors in the newsroom and the field reporter overlapping, speculating on what the crisis was. People exiting the building as the first far off wails of the sirens could be heard. Then, all hell breaking loose.

The picture bumped and jostled as the cameraman and reporter dashed up the steps, straight into the crowd that was running headlong down the steps. The crowd flowed around the mob of reporters, who circled like shark and surrounded a single woman who had gotten diverted from the rest. She shied back as microphones were thrust in her face, cameras all turned on her to capture the horror on her face and the tears streaming from her eyes. Aislinn sat up straight and blinked, staring disbelieving at the television screen. It couldn't be, she would have known about something like this, would have been told. It had to be a cruel joke, just someone who looked like Maggie, it couldn't be her. She had never been involved in anything in her life, had always been the good little girl who walked the straight and narrow.

It just couldn't be her sister.

The narrator was speaking again, and three artist's renderings of the suspects flashed on the screen. She snapped out of her funk at the shock that her sister could have possible seen such horrors and focused on the screen. All three of the men's faces seemed familiar, one more so than the others. The narrator was winding up her little spiel.

'The three killers were given a name by the media, and have become known popularly as 'The Boondock Saints'.'

Aislinn hit the power button on the last note, and the TV fell silent and dark once again. She sat there in the living room, staring into the darkness. She had to know why her sister was in that courtroom, and who those men were. Sleep came to her as she sat on the couch, trying to find answers which she didn't yet have, and questions that she would have to ask all too soon.

.-.-.-.

Somewhere down the short hallway a faucet was dripping, continuous in the darkness. Its steady rhythm tapped out the passing time as if it were a clock, and the sleeping men in the room seemed to draw their breaths in sync with it. One of the men twisted on his thin mattress, rolling onto his side and pulling the sheets with him. His breathing quickened and his body stiffened, a breeze from the open window floated through the room and stirred two rosaries hung on pegs on the far wall. He rolled back onto his back and his eyes snapped open, staring blankly at the grey ceiling above him.

A little girl, with grey eyes had been staring at him in his dreams. She had asked who he was and he didn't have an answer for her. She had seen something horrible, he knew, he had seen the two bodies that had lain at her feet. The bodies didn't bother him, he realized as his breathing returned to normal and his eyes began to focus. It was that the little girl had witnessed such a thing, had lost all innocence, and that he didn't have an answer for her. He ran a hand over his face, closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath. He rolled off the mattress and walked out of the room, down the hall to the bathroom with the dripping faucet. He turned on the light and ran some water into his hands which was then splashed onto his face. He glanced in the mirror as he reached for a towel, and as a tired reflection staring back at him. This life was beginning to take a toll on him. He buried his face in the towel, blinking away the haggardness of the reflection and blaming its appearance on the early hour.

But he knew it wasn't just his after midnight awakenings that were doing this to him.

Sighing, he went back to the bedroom, and paused in the doorway, looking down at his roommate. Fuck Murph, he could sleep through anything, and woke as fresh as a daisy even after a night of drinking. Connor rubbed his face again as he padded back to his mattress. Maybe it was the drinking that was doing this to him, maybe if he cut back… He fell back onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling as sleep came back to him. He didn't dream this time, but he did see the little girl staring at him again before the darkness claimed him, and he swore he had seen her before.

.-.-.-.


	3. Chapter Three

_**Chapter Three**_

She lay asleep on the sofa, curled tightly into one corner of it, a worn blue afghan draped over her form. She shifted in her sleep, stretching out one leg and causing the afghan to begin to slide from her body. One hand clutched absently at the retreating cover, while the other remained tucked under her head. She would have remained like this for quite some time if the phone hadn't shattered the early morning silence. The sudden sound made her start, and she sat upright, blinking hard and trying to focus. As much as Aislinn wished the caller did not go away, but insisted on waiting for her to pick up. She found footing on the old hardwood floors and made her way slowly to the open kitchen, where the phone lay waiting on the counter. She'd afforded herself the luxury of getting caller ID, so she'd know when some creep who got her number called. Before she even gave the phone a second look she grabbed the small display unit and held it close to her eyes, muttering something about it being too damn early for anyone to call her. It took her brain a moment to process the information displayed in front of her, but it was too late when it did.

The answering machine picked up as Aislinn's hand closed around the receiver and she seated herself on one of the barstools at the counter. She could interrupt the machine, but she didn't feel like it. She didn't want to deal with the caller this early anyway. The machine at her elbow whirred and played out a standard 'Hello, you have reached…' greeting as she lay her head down on her arms. She closed her eyes and waited for the caller to speak, so she could know whether to curse her or glorify her.

'Aislinn, its Stacy. Sandy overscheduled, so you can stay home. Call before coming in tomorrow for your schedule.' Aislinn lifted her head enough to glare poisonously at the machine. Fuck Stacy, she thought sleepily. Stacy had promised her the hours, had sworn she'd be the last to be sent home if they were overstaffed. Now it just proved that once again, Stacy was the master of the false promise. Aislinn was almost tired enough to yell a number of curses that she hadn't uttered in great multitudes since high school. Some well-bred, good little catholic girl she had been. She'd known enough course language to make a sailor blush. Sighing and deciding it wasn't worth it, Aislinn sat up on the stool and thumbed a number into the keypad on her phone. If she had the day off, the least she could do was to offer to take Meagan and Maeve off Maggie's hands for the day. And besides, she had to share the spirit of early rising with _somebody_.

.-.-.-.

Meagan shifted on the hard wooden pew as her aunt knelt on the cushioned riser and bowed her head in prayer. Meagan was going to take her First Communion the coming summer, and had agreed to accompany her aunt to church once a week in the mornings. She was beginning to behave more and more when in the church, and had recently been getting on her sister's case to do so too, which was why Maeve sat on the other side of Aunt Aislinn at the moment. As Meagan watched out of the corner of her eye, Maeve swung her legs back and forth; each time they came back she kicked them lightly against the underside of the pew. They were the only ones in the pew, so no one else could insist that Maeve stop it, and Aunt Aislinn was deep in her rosary at the moment and would be no help to Meagan. Which left Meagan to deal with it herself.

She finally looked away from the altar where she had been staring for the last five minutes, blinking every time Maeve's feet hit the wood. _Thump. Blink. Thump. Blink. Thump._ In the typical six-year-old manner, Meagan had decided the perfect solution to this problem was to reach over and just make her sister stop it. She glanced at her aunt once more, and assuring herself that she wasn't paying attention, scooted back so that she was no longer sitting with her legs over the edge of the pew. She checked again as she felt the thump again, Aunt Aislinn still hadn't looked up. Ever so carefully, Meagan pulled her legs up under her to kneel on the pew, and began to reach behind her aunt, towards her sister who blissfully had her eyes closed as she thumped away. Meagan's hand snaked out and reached for her sister's hair, grabbed a handful, and yanked. Hard. Maeve knew better than to scream in church, but there was a small squeak from her as her eyes flew open and lighted on her sister's. Aislinn hadn't looked up to catch them yet, so this gave Meagan a chance to get out of the situation without any repercussions, or so she thought. Maeve didn't see it that way.

Five-year-old Maeve lunged across the pew behind her aunt, both arms outstretched and headed for Meagan. Meagan pushed herself across the wood and almost fell off the pew itself. She managed to stop herself at that point, one hand gripping the back of the pew, holding herself barely in place. She didn't stay that way for long. Maeve slammed into her sister, and both girls fell to the floor with a resounding thud. There were a few other people in the church with them on this early morning, and some of the older faces looked in their direction with displeased scowls on their faces. A man in the back pew in the same section as them looked up at the commotion as his companion kept his head down. His lips twisted into a smile as he watched the two little girls wrestle on the floor in almost silence. He elbowed his companion and nodded in Meagan and Maeve's direction, his companion looked, chuckled quietly, and shook his head.

By this time Aislinn was fully aware of the situation and was standing over the girls who froze as they saw her shadow cast over them. She heard the chuckle and turned to shoot a glare at whoever had dared to laugh at her situation, but both men had their heads bowed once more. She shook her head and bent to pull the girls to their feet. Neither would look up at her as she laid a hand on each girl's shoulders and marched them to the foyer of the church. She saw one of the men's shoulders twitch with silent laughter as she passed, and she couldn't stop herself from taking her hand of Maeve's shoulder and flicking him in the back of the head as they passed. His head snapped up and his hand came up to the offended spot, but by then Aislinn's back was to him and she was not about to look back. His companion crossed himself and sat back from the riser, staring at him. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he rose. Still rubbing his head, the other man rose too and moved out of the pew.

'I suppose ya find that funny?' He asked quietly as they passed through the great doors and into the airy foyer.

'Aye.' Replied his companion, who was now holding back laughter along with his smirk.

'Next I'll see to it that you get hit.'

The other man laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'Right, Murph. See what ya get for laughing at a lady in church? And I thought ya respected women.'

'I'll show ya respect…' Murph muttered as his brother pushed open the main doors and stepped outside. Connor's gaze landed upon the woman and the two little girls as they walked down the sidewalk, her hands still firmly on their shoulders.

Murph paused just outside the doors and once they were closed lit a cigarette and took a deep drag off of it. He looked to his brother and now it was his turn to smirk.

'Yer starin', Connor.'

His brother glared at him and pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses as he took off down the stairs. Murph wasn't about to let this go. 'Connor's got a crush.'

'Shutup.' Connor replied, shoving his hands in his pockets, not bothering to look at his brother.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn marched the girls into the bakery's kitchen from the alleyway door, and all eyes turned to view their arrival. As their mother, Margaret McNally, turned and laid eyes on them, both redheads went down, taking a sudden interest in their shoes. Aislinn released her grip on their shoulders and pushed them slightly forward towards their mother.

'Tell Maggie what you did.' Aislinn instructed, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting her sister's gaze.

There was silence in the kitchen, excepting the thump of the mixer in the background. Aislinn had known that this was more humiliating for the girls than just explaining to their mother alone. Maggie was now copying her sisters pose, arms crossed across her chest, eyeing her daughters and waiting. Maeve finally sighed and lifted her head to look at their mother.

'We were fighting.' He mother managed to look scandalized, and Maeve was quick to try to make up for her bluntness. 'But not really, Ma. Meg pulled my hair…'

'Only cause you were kicking the pew.' Meagan retaliated, glaring at her sister. 'You're supposed to sit still in church.'

'I was!" Maeve shrieked, and from the light in her eyes she was ready to go at it with her sister again. Maggie sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, and opened them to see Aislinn smiling. Had she known she'd be blessed with two girls just like her and her sister, she'd have joined the sisterhood and become a nun. Both girls were accusing each other back and forth, the volume of their voices growing. Maggie uncrossed her arms and laid a hand on each girl's head.

'Enough!' the girls immediately went silent and looked at their mother, wide green eyes wondering what their punishment would be. 'Now listen to me, there will be no more fighting in church, understand? If the other is doing something you don't like, ignore it. Otherwise, the next time I hear of this, I'll tell Monsignor that you two will volunteer to polish all of the pews. Got it?'

'Yes, Ma.' Both replied, ducking their heads once more to examine their shoes.

'Upstairs, now. Get changed. Aislinn's taking you for the day, and I've got work to do.' Both girls scurried out of the kitchen and down a short hallway. Aislinn could hear their footsteps pounding up the stairs to the second story. Maggie was turning away, looking about the kitchen and trying to figure out what she had been doing before their arrival.

'Maggie,' she started, waiting for her sister to turn around. She tried again when she didn't. 'Maggie, I need to ask you a question.'

'About what?' her sister turned around and Aislinn felt a sharp pang. She could remember their mother looking like that. Flour streaked across one cheek, curly hair tied back in a loose bun. 'Did anything ever happen to you before I came back?'

Her sister blinked for a moment, trying to figure out what she meant, and then a dark cloud crossed her face. 'No. Nothing happened before you came back.. Ryan and I had some troubles, but that's it. Nothing more to it.'

'But…'

'Nothing more to it, Aislinn. I've got to work here; we're already behind. Take the girls to the park, its nice out.' Maggie turned her back on Aislinn and made it clear that the conversation was over. Sighing, Aislinn went to the stairs and headed up to the apartment to find her nieces and make sure they weren't getting themselves into even more trouble.

.-.-.-.


	4. Chapter Four

_**Chapter Four**_

The park was surprisingly quiet when the three of them arrived. and Meagan reacted to the lack of other children with great glee, immediately racing across the grassy expanse to the playground equipment set in the middle of a great sandbox. Aislinn shook her head, not bothering to yell the 'Be careful!' warning their mother was so fond of. The girls were old enough to know better by now, even if they did get rambunctious in church. Compared to what she and Maggie had done as children the girls were fairly tame. Maggie's threat to tell the Monsignor that they volunteered to polish pews brought back many memories for Aislinn. Sunday afternoons spent in the company of her sister, in the hot stuffy interior of the church, smelling of lemon scented Old English polish and Murphy's Oil Soap. Ma coming to collect them once their penance was done, smelling of flour and Chanel No. 5. And then she was gone, just like that, and they had been sent to live with their uncle in South Boston, leaving everything they knew behind. Aislinn had bawled her eyes out the day they had to leave the big old house in Dracut. Maggie hadn't shed a single tear.

She dropped her satchel onto the bench and slumped down beside it, combing fingers back through her loose hair. Why now, of all the times it could happen, was all of this deciding to haunt her? She'd been having the same recurring dream for two weeks now, watching her mother die over and over again, and listening to the other hit man whisper a prayer into the night as he kneeled with her next to her mother's body. Common sense would have dictated that after she had just watched a man shoot another man she should have run for her life, but somehow she knew that he'd never give her any cause to fear him. Sighing heavily, Aislinn dug through her satchel, and pulled out a book she'd picked up the other day off the discount rack. She flipped open the cover of the book, seeing as it was missing the dustcover and the lettering on the spine had long worn away from much loving. _Lord of the Dance_ by Andrew M. Greeley. She made herself comfortable, cast a quick eye on the girls, who were on the swings, and settled into her book. Peace and quiet, it was more than she could ask for.

'Aunt Aislinn!' The voice wasn't shrill so much as it was just unexpected. She was maybe twenty pages into the book and her reading was interrupted. She held her place with a finger and looked up as was running towards her. The five year old stopped right at her feet before she spoke again. Something about the situation made the hairs on the back of Aislinn's neck raise, and she set the book aside, page forgotten.

'Aun' Aislinn, there's a guy over there staring at us.' pointed and whipped her head in the direction of their visitor. Aislinn looked quickly to see where Meagan was and saw her standing stock still at the top of the slide, also staring in the same direction. On the far edge of the park, a man stood, certainly watching them; cigarette smoke drifting up around him. Aislinn grabbed her book and shoved it in the satchel, standing and slinging it over her shoulder. She took Maeve's hand in hers, squeezing it tight. Something was definitely wrong here, although she couldn't put her finger on what it was. She gave a high pitched whistle and gestured sharply for Meagan to get over there. The six year old was already off the slide and running towards her aunt and sister. Aislinn caught her hand and started marching back the way they had come not so long before. She didn't want to look panicked, although that would be hard to accomplish now, and she debated whether or not to look over her shoulder. She finally did, and almost stopped dead when she saw the man was gone.

There was a stutter in her step and both girls looked up at her. 'Who was that?' asked Meagan, looking back as her aunt scanned the area around them. was also looking back and caught her foot on a loose clod of grass, tripping and pulling down on Aislinn's arm. Aislinn paused and released Meagan's hand long enough to help her sister up and brush the dirt off her knees. She'd diverted her attention for only a moment, but that was all it took.

.-.-.-.

Connor and Murph both had the day off and tromped back into the small apartment they shared with their Da. It was by all means more than modest; two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen/ dining room/ living room, but it was far beyond their prior home in the city. Both boys went back to their room and removed their rosaries, hanging them on pegs by the door. Murphy turned back and headed to the bathroom while Connor kicked off his boots and flopped onto his mattress. He stared at the ceiling, not really thinking until his brother announced his return by flinging a boot at him. Fortunately Murph's aim wasn't as great with footwear as it was with a gun and the steel-toed boot flopped onto the mattress next to Connor's head. Connor grabbed it and flung it back at his twin.

'Fuckin' hell ya do tha for?' he asked, sitting upright and watching Murph rub where the boot had hit him. The younger MacManus shrugged and kicked off his other boot before settling onto his own mattress.

'You deserved it.' He smiled a satisfied smile. 'For laughin' at me in church.'

Connor shook his head, and looked away as the image of the woman popped into his mind. She seemed to meld with the little girl from his dreams, fitting together seamlessly. He shook his head again and heard Murph chuckle.

'Thinkin' bout her again? He rose from his mattress and strutted about the room, sighing dramatically. Connor and 'is mad crush on the mysterious woman. Oooooohhhh.' He paused in front of his brother and batted his eyes at him, dodging back when Connor lunged for him.

'Shutup, Murph. Tis no crush.'

'Whatever.' Murph replied and sauntered out of the room, leaving his slightly brooding brother behind. Connor sat in silence and listened to the muted voices of Murph and Da carry down the hall. He sat for another few minutes, the merged image of woman and girl fresh in his minds eye, before grabbing his boots and shoving them back on again. He grabbed his rosary as he passed through the door and was just tucking it into his shirt as he entered the living room. Murph was sitting on a folding chair, staring at the television and ignoring Connor. Their da looked up at Connor through the haze of cigar smoke encircling his face and raised a brow at his son. Connor grabbed his pea coat and shrugged it on.

'I'll be back later.' He offered in explanation and then was out the door. Da MacManus just watched him leave in silence, wondering what was troubling his son so.

.-.-.-.

Connor trudged down the street, bloodshot eyes hidden by dark sunglasses that cut the glare but did nothing for the pounding in his head. He was beginning to wonder if the job was getting to him, if he really did possess the depth of faith to continue doing this. His mind mused over that matter for a few blocks, coming to no satisfactory answer and giving into the guilt for having questioned it in the first place. He waited at the corner for the light to change, and stared up at the bright blue sky. Some clouds were building on the far horizon, and from the looks of them bore the promise of rain. Perhaps a thunderstorm, if he was lucky. Something that could unleash all the rage he felt on the world, and then wash it clean again. The crosswalk signaled blinked over to walk and he mechanically crossed the street. He had no idea where he was going; he had just needed to get out for a bit. Hopefully clear his head a bit.

He fished in his left pocket for a cigarette and his lighter, and contentedly drew on the tobacco once it was lit. He walked another few blocks up, past the T as it rumbled by on its way to the north end. Another two blocks and two turns later he was at a wide grassy park. It seemed odd for the park to be so quiet at this time of day. A gorgeous early summer day and it was silent, like a ghost town. As if trying to re-enforce that image in his mind the swings swung back and forth eerily on the breeze. He stepped onto the grass and started across, watching squirrels scamper across his path. There was a line of trees on the opposite side of the playground, shielding anything beyond from view. There was a bench up ahead, scarred with scratched-out graffiti but he walked past it, something else spurring him on. He finished the cigarette and dropped the butt in the grass, just as he came upon a view beyond the treeline. He stopped momentarily as his brain was slow to comprehend what he saw, but fortunately he didn't stay inactive for long.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn stared as an old Cadillac pulled up menacingly on the street ahead of them. She gripped both girls' hands hard, ignoring the whimpers of pain she elicited. The Caddy came to a stop and the man who had been watching them emerged from the front passenger side door. Another man came from the back door, and was considerably larger than his companion. They slammed the doors shut in unison and tugged their coats into place as they started towards Aislinn and the girls. Aislinn's mind was racing and her head whipped from side to side, looking for an escape route. She wouldn't turn her back and run to the playground, she wasn't about to let them be behind her. She wanted to keep an eye on these guys if they started to run. She began stepping backwards, tugging the silent girls with her. She could feel Meagan trembling, and she longed to reassure the little girl that it would be all right, but Aislinn knew that was a big fat lie. The large man adjusted his coat as they continued towards her, the space between them closing too rapidly for Aislinn's taste. She looked again and stared a moment longer at the trees to her left. Maybe, just maybe…

The men were picking up speed now, as if they had sensed her sudden decision. Aislinn's action was cemented as she saw the large man brush back his coat and reach for the holster strapped beneath. Tugging the girls with her Aislinn darted for the trees. "Run!" she half-yelled to them, trying to watch where they were going and keep an eye on the guys. It was hard to sprint with the girls, and Aislinn feared that the men would be upon them before they could even get into the meager cover offered by the trees. Meagan and were shrieking now, but were running as fast as their little legs could carry them. Aislinn looked back again as they came up to the edge of the trees, and shoved the girls forward, releasing them from her grip. "Run!" she shouted again, ducking just in time to avoid a tree branch at eye level. The little girls looked at her once in fear and then took off, gaining a few feet on Aislinn as she kept looking back at their pursuers. Both girls screamed as a shot hit in the trees around them, Maeve stopping and turning around as her sister kept going.

'Aun' Aislinn!' she screamed, her voice full of terror and out of breath. Aislinn waved her arms at her niece.

'Move it, Maeve!' she yelled in return. Her satchel caught on a tree branch and she let it slip from her shoulder. Another shot, this one too close to her for comfort, zinged past and she caught up to the five year old, scooping her into her arms. It was a bad move, she realized quickly, and she stumbled on an overgrown root. She tumbled with Maeve, and heard Meagan scream up ahead. Rolling over and trying to get onto her feet again, Aislinn looked up and back, fully expecting the men to be on her. They were close, no more than seven feet away, but that was as close as they would get.

.-.-.-.

Connor heard the woman yell at her young charges and take off for the cover of the trees. The two men followed her, both with guns drawn, and meaning to business. He sprinted after them, watching to make sure no one else came out of the Caddy. By the time he reached the trees he had his weapon drawn and cocked. Never once since getting into this business did he got about unarmed. Evil men were everywhere, and one never knew when you might happen upon one. HE dodged through the trees, avoiding branches and making far too much noise. Amazingly the men didn't look back at him, which meant they were incredibly stupid or way to intent on their prey. Too bad for them, Connor thought. His heart skipped a beat as the first shot rang out, and he picked up his pace. He was still a good dozen feet behind the men when the second shot came. He heard the woman scream again, bright and shrill, and then the pained grunt as she went down. Not from a gunshot, he was relieved, but down was not a good position for her to be in right now. His decision was instantaneous as his gun came up seemingly of its own accord. Two more shots rang out through the trees, scattering the remaining birds from the boughs. He watched as both men fell heavily to the ground, and the woman looked back at him in fear and surprise.

He holstered his gun and walked towards her. She was slow in getting up, and the other little girl was running back to her now. The little one next to her was staring at him, bright piercing green eyes. The woman pulled herself up, and leaned back against the tree, taking the girls into her arms and stroking their hair. She was keeping her weight off her right leg, he noted, probably from when she fell.

'You all right?' he called out, keeping his hands out in the open. His senses were still on full alert, eyes scanning through the shade for anyone else. There was a squeal of rubber being laid down as the Caddy took off. She heard it too and looked in its direction before bringing her gaze back to his.

'Fine, I think.' She looked down at her girls and they both nodded. She took a deep breath and leaned harder against the tree.

Connor blinked mightily as he came up close to them. It was as if the image in his mind had suddenly leaped out in front of him, becoming flesh right then and there. He pulled off his sunglasses and stuffed them in a coat pocket, stopping a few feet from them. Both girls scrutinized him when one suddenly announced 'I know you.' He looked at her and realized she was right.

'You're the man in the church this morning.' Her voice softened and she looked down.

'You're right on tha' one.' He answered, and she looked back up at him. The woman shook her head and tousled the girl's hair.

'She's got a good memory.' She announced, and he could hear the tremble in her voice. Adrenaline wearing off. He knew, hell, he'd been through it so many times before. Considering what she had just been through she was handling the situation quite well. 'I suppose I should say thank you, but I'm not sure how right it is to thank someone who just shot somebody.'

Connor tried to shrug, as if it were nothing, but knew what he took as a daily occurrence didn't appear that way to others. 'They were after ya, and would've done the same if they'd've caught ya.' As and after thought he added 'They're evil men.'

She nodded and tried to straighten up. She did well for a quick moment, and then her right knee gave out and she went down. She let out a very un-ladylike oath which caused Connor to grin momentarily.

'You're not all right.' He told her, helping her back to her feet.

'Must've banged it going down.' She replied voice and face slightly obscured as cascades of copper hair fell thick around her. She rubbed at her knee gingerly, poking at it and wincing. 'Not dislocated, but it's prolly bruised down to the bone. Took a bad tumble.' She shook her hair back out of her face. There were sirens in the far distance and she looked towards them. 'Meagan, get my satchel, I dropped it right back there. I don't exactly feel like answering questions about this right now.'

Connor didn't move as she tried to stand straight again, this time keeping most of her weight off the injured leg. She hopped a couple steps away from the tree and shook her head disgustedly. 'Since I don't think you're about to drag us off and shoot us, mind if I ask for a bit of help getting home?' She managed to smile sweetly, as if he needed any more convincing. Meagan returned with the satchel and reached out to take her sister's hand.

'Sure.' Connor nodded and put an arm around her waist, balancing her against him. The little girl's got out in front of them and they set off the way they had come into the trees. The little entourage continued in silence for about a block, their progress slow. Meagan turned back to them as they waited on a corner for traffic to pass, head coked to one side.

'What's your name?' she asked, true curiosity. Aislinn mentally thanked the girl for asking since it had slipped her mind. Sure, ask the guy who just shot a couple people to help you home but don't bother getting his name.

'Connor.' He replied, and received a satisfactory nod from the little girl. The road was clear so Meagan offered their names up when they got to the other side.

'I'm Meagan and this is Maeve,' She held up her sister's hand, 'And that's Aunt Aislinn. She's Ma's sister.'

Aislinn was smiling at him now as she limped along, still leaning against him. 'I wish it had been under better circumstances, Connor, but nice to make your acquaintance.'

'And yours, Aislinn.' He managed a small smile in return. Aislinn blushed for no reason other than hearing her name in a true Irish accent. She shook her head and pushed her hair back off her face with her left hand.

'So, do you always go around rescuing damsels in distress or is it just a hobby?'

'He shook his head, laughing. 'I'm a modern day knight.' She laughed at that; clear, sweet laughter. The girls giggled and started talking between themselves as they continued their trek. He looked over at Aislinn who met his gaze and held it, silent thanks in her eyes, and something else. Connor knew that this wasn't the first time she'd witnessed death.

.-.-.-.


	5. Chapter Five

_**Chapter Five**_

Aislinn fumbled for the keys in her right pocket, acutely aware that her hand was brushing against Connor's leg through the cotton twill as he held her steady. If he noticed he didn't let her know, but she still had to fight the rising heat that threatened to bloom in her cheeks. Tugging the keychain free she jammed the proper key into the lock and pushed the door open. She ushered the girls in before them, sending them up to her bedroom to play quietly until their mother came for them. She'd been relieved when she learned that Maggie was out making sure everything was going okay at the O'Fallon wedding. They had slipped through the alleyway door and into the hallway with little attention from the bakery staff. While her sister and her family lived on the second floor, Aislinn occupied the third. The lofts were the same layout, excepting the wall between Aislinn's two bedrooms had been knocked down long ago to make one giant room. The girls obeyed in silence and scurried to the old spiral staircase that would lead them to the great bedroom. Still with Connor's assistance Aislinn made her way to the couch. She all but collapsed on it, feeling the weariness of all the adrenaline draining out of her. Connor stood awkwardly before her for a moment, then hunkered down and pointed to her leg.

'Let me see how bad it is.' Aislinn balked for a moment, then rearranged herself a bit so she could lean down and roll up her pant leg. When she was bent over she was almost at eye level with Connor, and she averted her eyes, not wanting to stare at the gorgeous blue ones he possessed. He seemed strictly business, waiting for her to finish, hands clasped down in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. The edge of a dark bruise appeared just below her knee, and it took a bit of painful work to get the fabric up over her swollen knee. She collapsed back against the couch after finishing her task, biting back the last of the sharp pain that had throbbed all through her leg when she had pulled the fabric over her knee.

'Look's bad. Ya sure nothin's broken?' he asked, eyebrows lifting as he looked to her, never altering his position.

'Its not that bad…' she said, offering false bravado. Connor seemed to consider this for a moment then reached out, carefully, and lightly touched the lumpy bruise. Aislinn fairly screamed and lunged at him, striking out with a fist and connecting with the side of his head as he didn't move out of her reach in time.

'You stupid fuck! Why the hell'd you do that?!' she hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at him. There was a spark of laughter in his eyes even as he rubbed the spot where she connected.

'You hit hard.' He offered, starting to rise.

'For a girl, you mean?' she countered, still glaring poisonously and watching warily as he got to his feet.

He grunted and shook his head. 'For anyone.' She managed a small smile and relaxed a little. 'You should put some ice on that.'

She waved him to the kitchen. 'There's some frozen peas in the freezer, use those.'

'Peas?'

'They're in a bag, genius. More comfortable on bruises than a bag of ice.'

'Oh.' She waved at him, ushering him along, and he walked to the kitchen. She looked up at the ceiling as he rooted through her freezer. He came back a few seconds later, weighing the bag of frozen vegetables in his hand. She watched as he carefully placed it on her knee, watching her face for a reaction and eying her hands tentatively. Connor didn't really feel much like getting clocked again. When she nodded satisfactorily he stood again, and looked down at her.

'Sit.' She ordered, pointing a finger at the cushion next to her. 'You look like you want to ask me a question and you're not going to stand over me like an interrogator.' He nodded and sat, and she wondered why all men couldn't be that obedient.

'You ever see the man who was after ya before?" he asked once seated.

'Never.' She replied, shaking her head so that the loose red tendrils whipped about her face. Her Boston accent as strong as it had ever been in her youth. Anyone listening to her would never have known she had spent eleven years on the West Coast.

'You're sure?'

'Get some idea that I'd lie to you?' Aislinn asked, slightly irritated.

'Nah, just wanna be sure. Most times people know why mob enforcers are chasin' them.' He shrugged lightly, accepting her negative answer.

'Nope, never. That, and I have nothing to do with the mob, at least that I'm aware of. I'm a humble waitress. Trust me, when a man is chasing me with a gun, I tend to remember.' A cloud briefly crossed her features, attracting Connor's attention. 'My turn,' she announced before he could question it. He nodded and she grinned. 'You always go around with a gun or two under your coat?'

'Two? How do you know I have two?' she jabbed him once on the right and once on the left, finger meeting resistance on both sides and smiled sweetly.

'Lucky guess. Answer the question.' She gave him the look he remembered his own mother and countless other Irish women giving him when they wanted an answer. He firmly believed that they could send men into battle with that look, and then stop it when they were satisfied with another. He sighed, searching for an acceptable reply.

'You never know who you might run into out there. There's lots o' evil men in this world.' His voice was grave and she nodded.

'And it's your job to protect the innocent from these evil men?'

'Somethin' like that.' He admitted, and he wondered how much Aislinn really knew, or suspected. Perhaps she was just _fey_ like that.

She smiled, nodded, and leaned back against the couch, stretching her arms above her head. 'Twas God's grace that brought you there, Connor.' She muttered, tipping her head back. 'I hate to think what would have happened had you not shown up.' She pulled her arms back down and smiled wickedly. He smiled back but her humor fled a moment later.

'I always thought the girls would be better off than my sister and I were.' She seemed to be thinking about something else, not really meaning to say that out loud.

'Whaddaya mean by that, Aislinn?' He shifted to face her a little more. Her eyes were sad and heavy when she met his.

'Nothin'. Just musing, I guess.'

Deciding not to push it he nodded and watched her in silence as she stretched again and then moved the bag on her knee a little. They sat there quietly for a few long minutes, he could hear the muted sounds from the street below and the bakery equipment. Gradually he became away of a heavy foot coming up the stairs. Connor stiffened, staring intently at the doorway. Aislinn, who had closed her eyes, opened one like a cat and stared, her posture also changing, and she sat up straighter on the couch. She put a hand on the couch arm, preparing to stand up when Connor's hand gently pushed her back down. No sooner had he done so the door burst open, a large man standing in it, looking thoroughly menacing. Connor was up and his hand snaking under his coat, staring at him Aislinn didn't comprehend for a long moment, and then the realization of his actions dawned on her.

'No! It's just Ryan, Maggie's husband!' She leapt from the couch, the bag of peas falling from her knee as she forgot she was well wounded. She managed to grab Connor's arm, before her knees gave out ungracefully again. Even though it hadn't been her intention, her sudden sinking had caused Connor to forgo his weapon and to pull her back to her feet. Ryan slammed the door behind him and stalked over to them. No matter what mood he was in, Ryan always managed to look mad. Right now he was trying to look concerned, but it still came off as if he was about to bash your face in.

'Aislinn, what the fuck happened to you?' he asked, pointing to her knee, and then his hand came up and his face settled to glower at Connor. 'And who the fuck is this?'

Aislinn glared at him, already knowing that he disliked any man who came near her. There were times when he was more protective of her than his wife. 'This,' she gestured at Connor with her free hand, while he gave Ryan a glare as severe as the one the man had bestowed upon him, 'Is Connor, and you have him to thank for your daughters' safety.'

Ryan regarded her warily. 'What?'

Connor was maneuvering Aislinn back to the couch, still keeping an eye on her brother-in-law. She pointed to the armchair catty-corner to the couch. 'Sit, I'll explain.'

.-.-.-.

Murph sat with one leg draped over the arm of the worn out easy chair, the other over the front while he watched _The Bold and the Beautiful_ over a can of beer that he held on his knee. His Da didn't seem impressed by his son's choice of programming and immersed himself in a well worn book, a pair of reading glasses looking out of place on his face. A commercial break came on and Murph took a long drink off his beer. He half-whistled tunelessly during the car commercial, but stopped when the Channel 22 News logo flashed on the screen. Even his Da looked up when the reporter appeared onscreen, standing in a park with a playground as her backdrop.

'Less than an hour ago a shoot out happened right here in this park. Witnesses report that woman and two little girls were being chased down by two men, who apparently arrived in a white late-model Cadillac. Another man then appeared and went after the men, shooting them and wounding both fatally. Police are searching the neighboring area for the man and the woman and the little girls. If you have seen…' Murph angrily pushed the mute button on the remote that had been resting in his lap.

'Wha' the fuck does he think he's doin'?' He gestured at the screen with the remote before crumpling the empty beer can and tossing it at the television. 'Runnin' 'round and killin' men in broad daylight like this.'

Da MacManus removed his reading glasses and rested a hand on the book he was reading as he set it in his lap. 'You boys have gone after men in daylight before. Nothin' new.'

'_That_ was planned.' Murph protested. 'Now he's playin' fuckin' Lone Ranger on us, the dumb fuck.' He swung his leg off the arm of the chair and rose, heading for the kitchen. He returned from his foray in the fridge with another beer in his hand, a cigarette in the other. 'Prolly his fuckin' girlfriend.' He muttered, throwing himself back into the chair. That single word of 'girlfriend' had garnered his Da's full attentions.

'Girlfriend?' he questioned, looking at his son, who snorted and waved the cigarette in the air as he explained.

'Some girl he was starin' at after church this mornin'. Her girls started scrappin' in the middle of the aisle and I had a bit o' laughter over it. She rapped me in the back of the head for it!' Murph pointed to the offended spot with the same hand that held his cigarette, and he shook his head. 'Prolly why Connor likes her, cause she beats on me already.'

Da MacManus shook his head. 'You deserved it, Murphy, laughin' at a woman in church.' Murph twisted and looked wide eyed at his Da.

'Is everyone against me on this?' He looked aghast, raising both hands in the air, as if pleading for understanding and leniency.

'Aye, seems tha' way, doesn't it?'

Murph twisted back away and unmated the television, bringing the soap opera back to full life. 'Still say it's his fuckin' girlfriend who got him into this.'

.-.-.-.


	6. Chapter Six

_**Chapter Six**_

_There are only three sins- causing pain, causing fear, and causing anguish. The rest is window dressing.  
__-Roger Caras_

_It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.  
__-Buddha_

Ryan stared disbelieving at his sister-in-law as she recounted this morning's experience in the park for him. Connor watched glared at him the entire time, one arm draped over the arm of the couch and one on the couch back. Aislinn was a wonderful storyteller, he decided, watching as she pantomimed with her hands what had happened. Her nieces must've loved to have her tell bedtime stories. She could probably convince them that there was a knight waiting just outside to vanquish the fire-breathing dragon and save them. He snorted lightly to himself at the obvious parallels with his current situation. Aislinn leaned back after she was finished, leveling a hard glare on Ryan.

'If you know _anything_ about this Ryan you'd better tell me know, or for the love of God…' She let her threat trail off into silence, giving it potency than if she had given him a specific example of what she would do. He spread his huge hands out in front of him, palms up, a gesture to appease her.

'Nothing, Linn. You honestly think I'd put my own daughters and my sister-in-law in danger?' he asked, staring at her, daring her to contradict him. It was obvious this man thought himself to be the head of the family, but he should have known better with two Irish women in his kingdom. One wrong move would be all it took for them to throw him off his throne. Surely he realized this, Connor thought, still getting a glare from the man. He also seemed to think he had the right to deem who could enter his kingdom, and Connor was not going to be on that list.

Aislinn took this in a moment, the penetrating gaze of her pale eyes boring into him. Satisfied, she nodded sharply. 'Fine. Go get your girls, Ryan. They need some comfort from their Ma and Dad.' She waved him to the bedroom and he rose, fairly stomping to the far end of the loft. He reached the bottom of the staircase and let out a sharp whistle. Two smiling redheads appeared a moment later, squealing 'Daddy!' at the sight of their father. He grabbed them and hugged them both before setting them back on the floor. 'Go say bye to your Aunt.' He instructed, following in their wake. Aislinn smiled and leaned forward to hug each of her nieces in turn. She whispered something to Maeve and the little girl blushed and nodded. She stepped around her aunt's outstretched leg and solemnly offered a hand out to Connor. He blinked and stared at it for a moment, then took it. She shyly shook his hand, looking the picture of innocence. Meagan had appeared by her sister's side, catching on and awaiting her turn. He released Maeve's hand and took Meagan's, repeating the process.

'Aunt Aislinn says we should thank you. She says we owe you one.' The five year old pronounced her words carefully. Connor broke into a grin.

'Twas my duty. And you little ones owe me nothin', your thanks is more than enough.' The girls giggled then stopped when they heard their father clear his throat. He glared at Connor again, then said his goodbyes to Aislinn and ushered his daughters to the door. Aislinn waited until the door was closed before letting out a long groan. Connor looked to her and she was shaking her head and pointing at the door.

'That man tries my patience every day, but Maggie loves him, and I suppose he's a good father to the girls. Gives 'em everything they ever ask for. But he thinks he can tell me how to live to, and I just don't take to that.'

'He definitely doesn't like me.' Connor murmured, which got a laugh out of his pretty Boston Irish companion.

'Oh, believe me, he does not, but he feels obligated to you for what you did.' She ran a hand back through her hair and pondered for a moment. 'But I still feel unsure that he didn't know anything about this. Ryan's always been a little… off to me. Not quite right.' She shrugged and looked at Connor, who nodded agreement. She grinned and patted his leg, chuckling when he stiffened and almost drew away. 'I'm not going to molest you, relax,' she chided him. Connor shook his head and stayed silent. Aislinn bent forward, grabbed the bag of peas from her knee, and frowned at the rivulets of water that ran down her leg and pooled on the floor. Before Connor could protest she was up and limping towards the kitchen. She threw the bag back in the freezer then pulled open the fridge door, peering inside. Her left hand snaked inside and returned with a package of lunch meat and a baggie of provolone cheese.

'Staying for lunch?' she asked, closing the fridge door and tossing the retrieved items on the counter. She turned away and opened the bread box next to the stove, pulling out a loaf of wheat bread. That got taken over to the rest of the stuff before she leaned against the counter, hands on hips, waiting for Connor's answer. He was almost to the kitchen now, and Aislinn realized that she hadn't heard him rise or come out there. He held his hands out in apology, and smiled sadly.

'Love to, but my da and brother are prolly wonderin' what happened to me.'

'Brother? He was the one who was laughing at me in church this morning, right?'

Connor smiled lopsidedly, 'Aye. He told me I would be gettin' hit next time.'

'He was right.' She pointed out with a slice of bread in her hand. 'Small world, I suppose.' She slapped the bread on the counter and started building her sandwich. She eyed it for a moment before placing a second slice of bread on top. Eyeing her creation she pulled open a drawer and removed a large, wicked looking carving knife. She wielded it deftly and cleanly sliced the sandwich in half diagonally. She looked over to see Connor's eyes widen at the size of the knife.

'Um, yes?' she asked, looking from the sharp blade to him and back again.

'You and my brother would get along just fine.' He shook his head, remembering the knife Murph had found at the gun dealer's all those years ago. Fuckin' Rambo. Murph with his big-ass knife; accusing him of being the Charlie Bronson wannabe. Damn rope had come in handy, but so had the knife. Aislinn looked at him oddly for a moment then wiped the knife down with a towel and put it back in the drawer. She stepped away from her sandwich for a moment, approaching Connor.

'I just wanted to say thank you before you left. Anything I can ever do for you, let me know. No matter what you told the girls. I owe you big time.' He began to protest, trying to find a way to tell her it was just his duty to God that had made him do it, but he didn't get anywhere. She stood on tiptoe, cringing as her knee protested and laid a soft kiss on his cheek. His protests came to a sudden stop, and he stared at her.

'Promise me, Connor. _Anything_, and you will come to me.' She held his gaze, and he felt as if a potent spell were being worked on him. Deep down, he knew he could do nothing less than promise this woman, and that he could never deny her anything.

'You have my promise, Aislinn.'

.-.-.-.

Connor opened the door to their small apartment, and was greeted with the view of Murph sprawled out in the armchair, watching _The View_. His brother hadn't looked when the door had creaked open so Connor slammed it now, making sure he had his brother's attention.

'Ssssshhhhhh!' he put his finger to his lips, then pointed at the TV. 'I'm watchin' this.' Connor shook his head and began to pull off his jacket, revealing the holster and the two guns that were strapped under it. Murph watched as the jacket was tossed on the worn couch, followed by Connor's lean body a moment later.

'Where's Da?' he asked, looking from the TV to his brother.

'Said he had to go do somethin'.' He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, taking his time and blowing a long stream of smoke in the air. 'You have fun today?'

Connor looked oddly at Murph. 'Fun?'

'While you were out, takin' your walk, daydreamin' about your girlfriend.' He elaborated. Connor made to protest the girlfriend part but thought the better of it. 'You were all over the fuckin' news with that Lone Ranger shit ya pulled.' And then Connor had it, and the realization was apparent on his face.

'It was on the news?' Connor leaned over to get a better look at the television, sitting down on the couch. Murphy glared at him, and as if hearing them, the show went to commercials and the Channel 22 News logo flashed on screen. It was just a spot for the six o'clock news, but it was Sally McBride standing in the same park Connor had just been in a few hours before. He rubbed his chin and leaned back on the couch. 'Well imagine that.'

Murphy threw an empty beer can at his brother. 'Didja forget that we was supposed to keepin' our business on the quiet side?' He shook his head, trying hard to look disgusted. 'Shootin' up two 'itmen in broad daylight, yer fuckin' insane, Connor'

'What was I supposed to do, let her get killed? Let 'em shoot her down in cold blood while I watched?' Connor grabbed the beer can and waved it in the air as he spoke, then pegged it back at his brother. 'Evil men, dead men; or have you forgotten, Murph?'

That comment meant war and Murph propelled himself off the couch and at his brother. The twins rolled off the sofa onto the floor and bumped the coffee table as they wrestled. Throwing accusations at each other along with anything either one could get their hands on. They were unaware of the door opening and their battle being observed disdainfully by their father. Their da glared at them, watching in silence, the ever present cigar ringing him in smoke, before slamming the door behind him. Both boys stopped, mid struggle, and stared up at the newcomer.

'Wha the fuck do you think you're doing?' demanded Da MacManus, 'Both o' ya, actin' like children.' By now his sons were standing, adjusting clothing and straightening hair. Murph was the one to speak first, pointing at his brother.

'He started it.' Connor looked disgusted and reached over to smack Murph on the back of his head. Da spoke before the younger MacManus son could retaliate.

'Enough. Two o' ya, actin' like five year olds. I suspect your ma taught ya better than that.' His words had the desired effect and his sons ducked their heads like recalcitrant five year olds. Da walked past them and deposited a large brown grocery sack on the coffee table, which listed dangerously to one side. Connor sensed the solemnity and was the first to peer into the bag, being greeted by boxes upon boxes of ammunition. His fingers left the bag and he looked up at his da.

'Somethin' big you got planned fo' us?' he seemed reluctant in his words, and his father noticed, but didn't say anything. Best to let Connor broach the subject first.

'Aye. Received a tip from an ol' friend.' He pulled a business card from a pocket and handed it over to his son. Connor snorted when he saw Paul Smecker's name on the card. Of course it would have to be him; he had his nose in every bit of organized crime in Boston. Murphy shook his head and took the card from his brother, turning it over to read the words scrawled on the back.

_Hilton, Friday, 6:00_

'They never learn, do they?' Murph looked rather pleased with the upcoming job, and Connor wouldn't have blamed him a month ago. Now his stomach twisted at the thought. Murph, unaware of his brother's queasiness, clapped one hand on his shoulder. 'Just like ol' times.' He said in Connor's ear. Connor nodded mechanically and took the card from his brother, passing it back to their father. Murph released his brother and wandered back down the hallway towards their room. Connor looked to his father, who was waiting patiently, cigar in hand.

'I'm not sure if I can do this anymore, Da.'

.-.-.-.

Ryan sank into the leather easy chair that he had claimed as his in their living room. The girls were in their room, playing quietly, and here he sat, faced with more problems than he had ever asked for. Never in his life had he though this could happen. He'd been working for these guys since high school, and now he was being repaid by having his family hunted down. Not that it wasn't expected, not after what he had done. He'd overstepped his bounds, had tried to cap someone that the bosses didn't want dead. In the old days they would never touch women and children, he mused, but times had changed. Ryan rested his head in his hands, staring at the floor, wondering when they would come again. He wouldn't know; he'd never know until it was too late and he was looking over the bodies of his wife and children.

He rose, heading to the bathroom and digging through the medicine cabinet for a bottle of Tums. He poured himself a handful and chewed them like candy, hoping it would settle his stomach. He returned to the living room and looked at the family portrait that smiled back at him from atop the entertainment center.

_God, Maggie, I'm so sorry_.

He turned away quickly, heading to the kitchen and pulling a box of macaroni and cheese from the cabinet and setting about the routine of preparing the girls' lunch. All the while, his chance for redemption weighed heavily on his mind. He was sorry that Aislinn would have to go through this, but she had been the one to get involved, even if it wasn't by her own choice. He knew who and what Connor MacManus was, and letting him get that close to his family was not what Ryan needed. No, he couldn't afford to have an enemy in his kingdom. But that would all be resolved tomorrow night, and maybe then he could redeem himself.

.-.-.-.


	7. Chapter Seven

_**Chapter Seven**_

_The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom shall I fear?  
__-Psalm 27_

_Whatever our creed, we feel that no good deed can by any possibility go unrewarded, no evil deed unpunished.  
__-Orison Swett Marden_

She dreamed of him that night. Dreamed of him as the man who had come to her aid and comfort after her mother had passed from this world to the next. Except this time she was not a little girl, but she was grown and weeping for the loss of another in her family. For herself, something kept telling her. This time it was not the feel of leather she felt against her palms or the heavy smoke of cigars, but thick wool and cigarettes. He had held her there, standing over her own death, letting her cry into his shoulder until she could weep no more, until the tears would no longer come and she could only draw a shuddering breath. At that point he held her away from him at arm's length, looking at her in the dreamscape of moonlight and blood. She sought his eyes, trying to find his soul.

'Who are you?' She asked, a six-year-old's voice replacing her adult soprano. And just as the man he had replaced did, Connor shook his head, unable to give her an answer. For the first time in years, Aislinn screamed out in anger, lashing out at him.

'Why won't you answer me?!'

She awoke with a start, the last of her voice still bouncing back to her off the walls. Nothing moved in the still of the night, and there was still a sliver of moonlight crossing her bedroom, illuminating the cross on the wall. Aislinn rubbed her eyes and glanced ruefully at the alarm clock on the dresser. Once more it was too early for her own good. A trip down to the bathroom, a drink of water and an avoidance of her face in the mirror, and then she was back in her bed. Tomorrow she'd have to talk to Maggie, to get some answers. No more games, the same games they'd been playing since they were children. What did Maggie know that she didn't about this man? Why was she in that courtroom when he killed Yakavetta? Aislinn twisted the sheets in her hands and closed her eyes, troublesome questions carrying her back into her dreams.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn appeared at the church looking as she always did, a peasant skirt swirling about her ankles and a cotton tee shirt that hid nothing tucked into the skirt. She slipped silently into the church, settling into a pew mid-way back on the right, quietly kneeling and crossing herself. Father Macklepenny watched from the rear of the church, just inside the doors. Why she drove clear across town when she could do the same thing in her own parish was something that he never understood. In the silence he could hear the rosary beads slipping between her fingers, and knew that she would be finished before morning mass begun. It was a Friday, so she would slip downstairs to the basement before mass, to begin preparing the day's activities for bible camp. Suddenly, in the midst of her prayers, she stopped and looked around the church. Assuming that no one was there, Macklepenny watched as Aislinn rose and stepped from the pew, easing down the aisle to the baptismal font. Curious, he stepped through the doors, and keeping to the shadows, tried to get a closer look. She bowed and crossed herself before stepping to the statue next to the font, Mary holding an infant Jesus, a modern sculpture of the Madonna. She knelt before the saint and kissed its feet, then looked up into its face. Father Macklepenny suddenly felt a weight of sadness and fear permeate the church and stared wide eyed at the woman. What had happened to her in her life to cause such pain? Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, he swiftly left the church, not daring to look back until he was in the foyer, the door closed behind him. Poor soul, he thought, stepping out into the sunshine and looking up. What did she do to deserve this? He asked silently, not fully expecting an answer.

.-.-.-.

Connor crossed himself and stood, tucking the rosary inside his shirt and stepping out from the pew, leaving his brother behind, head bowed earnestly in prayer. He left the church, walking next door to the rectory office where he knew he would find the Monsignor. Although he had never spoken to the man about anything he had done, Connor felt sure that the Monsignor knew what he had been doing with his life, and whether he approved or not still remained to be seen. The St. Patrick's Day sermon still echoed amongst Connor's memories, and he could hear the old man clearly as he reached for the door.

_'But there is another kind of evil we should fear most, and that is the _indifference _of good men.'_

Oh, he had been anything but indifferent in the years of his life, anything but. Connor went inside, and knocked lightly on the door to the monsignor's office. There was a touch of surprise in the man's features when he opened the door to admit Connor. He looked back for the other MacManus but didn't find him.

'I was sure that when you finally came to me it would be the both of you.' He told him, holding the door open and permitting him entrance to his office. Monsignor McNamara waved Connor to a chair, but the younger man shook his head, preferring to stand. The monsignor thought he looked like a gallowglass standing before his desk, an Irish mercenary soldier doomed to a short and dangerous life, but ready to give all that he could before the Almighty called him home. He seated himself in the large leather chair and looked Connor MacManus over. 'You want to know if what you're doing is right.'

Connor blinked, wondering if he were really that transparent. 'Aye, well, I suppose. Its more as if what we were doin' fell under the theology of self defense.'

'Self defense?' That surprised Monsignor McNamara, and he had to stop and think about it for a moment. 'Are you suggesting that killing all those men was out of self defense? Killing them before they could possibly kill you?'

Connor shrugged and finally fell into a chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Now he no longer looked the part of a mercenary soldier, but a man who was struggling with his own sense of right and wrong. 'If there were an invading army threatening the lives of our women and children, wouldn't it be permissible to defend ourselves against them? Under those circumstances wouldn't it be _right_ to defend ourselves?'

The monsignor shook his head. 'In uncivilized societies, which we are not. We have the police, federal agencies; laws, the court system, all designed to deal with such threats.'

'Aye, and still, the wicked continue to rise and kill the innocent, even in our so called 'civilized society', Monsignor.'

McNamara did have to admit the boy did have a point, but he refused to concede to it. 'He who lives by the sword shall die by it.' He cautioned. Connor shook his head.

'I've no fear o' dyin', Monsignor. I just want to know if we are justified in the eyes o' the Lord in what we are doin'.' Monsignor McNamara sighed and shifted in his chair.

'The conditions in moral theology are quite clear,' _even if theology doesn't always work_, he told himself, 'Self defense of the lives and physical well being of the innocent is licit when there is no other way to protect legitimate rights.' Connor nodded, and the monsignor continued. 'So long as one practices blameless moderation.' He fixed a stern gaze on Connor MacManus, who looked as if he were questioning the meaning of 'blameless moderation'. 'You don't go any further than needed to protect yourselves or those you are defending.'

'We don't, Monsignor.' Connor murmured, the events of yesterday morning running clearly in his mind's eye. 'So ethically we are justified in what we have done?'

'In theory, in practice things aren't so clear cut. Ethically, yes.' Monsignor McNamara drew out the words, as if he were afraid to sanctify what these men were doing. 'Its not just Catholic theory, Connor, its traditional Western ethical theory: protect those you love by any means necessary.' _Within reason_, he almost added, but felt that it would be a moot point in this case.

Connor nodded and began to rise from his chair. He could see his brother standing outside, smoking a cigarette in the sunlight and waiting impatiently. 'I'll be sure to keep that in mind.' He assured the Monsignor, who rose to see him to the door. Monsignor McNamara stopped Connor just outside his office door.

'Tell me, Connor, you would never hurt an innocent, would you?'

Connor shook his head. 'Never, only evil men. Destroy all that which is evil so that good may flourish.' He nodded his goodbye and went out into the morning with his brother. The monsignor stood at the window for a long time, watching the brothers until they were out of sight. He looked heavenward, and watched the clouds race across the sun, dappling the world in light and shadow.

'Forgive me, Father.' He murmured.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn was surprised to find Maggie standing in her living room when she came home. The girls were watching PBS and talked between themselves on the couch. Aislinn took it all in, raising an eyebrow at her sister, who offered her a cup of tea.

'Good morning, Linn.' Maggie smiled, sipping at her own cup. Aislinn took the cup warily and sipped at it. Too much sugar, but that was what Maggie liked. Aislinn pulled a stool out and sat down on it, glad to be off her feet. She had taken some Aleve that morning to take the edge off her pain, but it was still there, following her like an ominous shadow. She set the cup down on the counter heavily after another sip, and looked into her sister's green eyes.

'You want something.'

Maggie wrapped her long fingers around the cup and set it on the counter, staring into the tea as if she were divining something. 'I need to borrow the car.' Aislinn opened her mouth to object, but Maggie plunged forward. 'Its only for the weekend, Linn. Ryan and I thought it would be a good time for me and the girls to get away for a bit.' She tried to look pitiful, trying to guilt her younger sister into letting her have the car.

'Ryan's not going and why can't you take yours?'

'He has business to see to at the office.' Maggie waved the questions away as if she'd answered both and they weren't that important. 'Five days at the maximum, Linn. Me and the girls will drive up to Maine, stay in York, have some fun on the beach. They need to get away from all this… violence.' Aislinn felt there was something odd about the whole situation, but agreed with the logic of getting the girls away for a bit. She bit her lip and nodded.

'Take the car,' Maggie began to thank her but Aislinn held up her hand. 'But on one condition, you tell me what you were doing in that courtroom five years ago. I know you weren't just there for fun.'

'I can't.' Maggie spat out immediately.

'You can, you will.' Aislinn replied.

Maggie's temper began to shine through in her eyes. 'Don't push, Linn. Believe me when I say I can't.'

Aislinn stood from the stool, planting her hands on the counter and leaning towards her sister. She wasn't about to scream in front of the children, but she was going to make her point to her sister. 'You watched a man be murdered by three men in a court of law and you can tell the mass media about that but you can't tell me why you were there in the first place?' Her voice was low and dangerous, and her sister knew that she meant business. Maggie lowered her voice too, and met her sister's gaze.

'No, Aislinn, I can't. Believe me, if I could tell you I would in an instant, but its not something I can talk about.'

Aislinn glared at her a moment longer, then looked away, frustrated. 'Margaret Brigid Maire, you are incredible.' She muttered disgustedly. Maggie, was shaking her head, as if that would make Aislinn understand. 'Take the car. Bring it back with a full tank. This isn't done.' She waved a hand at the keys which hung on a peg by the door. She turned her back on her sister and went to visit with the girls.

Maggie felt cold as she came out of the kitchen to get the keys. She really wished she could tell Linn everything, it hung like a weight around her neck. But, it would only make things worse if Aislinn knew the entire story. She tucked the keys into her pocket and went to collect her daughters, the family sharing hugs before they left Aislinn alone in her apartment. After they had left Aislinn went back to the kitchen, sipping the overly sweet tea her sister had made then dumping it down the sink. Why wouldn't anyone give her a straight answer?

.-.-.-.


	8. Chapter Eight

_**Chapter Eight**_

_Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.  
__-Ambrose Redmoon_

She couldn't focus. A book lay open on the couch, left there after it had failed to hold her attention beyond a chapter. The television also pantomimed silently to her, muted after she couldn't stand the cheerful banter of the late night talk show hosts. Aislinn was on the third lap of her apartment, pausing occasionally to stare out the old crazed glass windows at the streets below, which lay silent in the early, early morning. Something was driving her to distraction, but she didn't know what it was. She wandered to the kitchen now, pulled open the fridge door and peered inside for a few seconds before deciding her answer didn't lie there. Aislinn marched back over to one of the windows, and undid the locks on it, pushing it open and letting in the warm and humid summer air. She rested her hands on the sill and stared out, eyes scanning the horizon, hoping to find her answer there. It was the worst she had felt since she had last seen Connor, no less than a day before, standing here in her apartment one moment, and then he was gone. Here and gone like a cool breeze on a summer afternoon, just enough to refresh you then leave you wishing for more. She scanned the city lights, and still didn't find her answer.

.-.-.-.

Connor pulled himself along the alleyway, wincing with every step and drawing a sharp breath whenever his arm brushed against something. He could feel the blood and sweat running in rivulets down his arm under his coat, absorbing into the heavy wool. He stumbled over a trash bag that had spilled its contents out and grabbed for the brick wall to steady himself. His head swam as he took a deep breath, looking up to see how much further he had to go. The door he wanted was just up ahead. Another few yards and he would find his refuge. It was difficult to make his feet move, found it was difficult to think straight. For a few moments he had to wonder how he had gotten into this situation in the first place, but that confusion didn't last long. Connor reached the door and tugged on the knob, surprise filling him when it turned and granted him entrance.

He made his way down the small hallway, easily navigating in the dark, finding the staircase and taking the first step. The pain was unbelievable. If Connor had thought that walking streets and alleyways was difficult, this new task blew everything away. He went to his knees on the second step and wondered if he would make it all the way to the third floor. Taking the railing in a death grip, Connor hauled himself up step by step, slowly ascending. Stairs that he normally could have taken two at a time reduced him to the speed of a geriatric man. And he was about to let the woman he had fallen for see him in this condition. To separate his mind from the pain Connor began to ponder what her reaction would be. But she had been the one to make him promise that if he ever needed anything, he would come to her. Connor reached the second floor landing, and paused, sinking against the wall and eying the door. If his luck would hold it would remain closed and no one would hear him on his journey. It was a small consolation that Ryan would not be making an appearance, but Connor suddenly couldn't remember why he knew that. Pushing off the wall, he began the climb once again, one stair at a time.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn was still staring out the window when a short knock came on the door. She froze, head whipping from the horizon to the door, which was closed and locked. She counted the seconds in silence before a knock came again. Not strong or demanding, not anyone she readily knew, if one could tell from the knock. She skirted the living room and went through the kitchen, removing the wicked looking carving knife from the drawer there. Thus armed, she approached the door and threw back the bolt and turned the knob, ready to pounce should it be an attacker. Aislinn pulled the door open, and she stared gape mouthed at the visitor, trying to comprehend for a long moment. There was blood on the worn blue jeans, and obviously on the black shirt too, seeing as it clung to Connor's body. Pale blue-grey eyes met deep blue ones, his hazed with pain.

'Aislinn,' he managed, staggering forward. She dropped the knife and caught him, staggering slightly under his weight. The smell of blood, sweat, and gunpowder made her stomach turn. She helped him inside, catching the door with her foot and shutting it behind him, knowing that the sooner she hid his arrival, the better.

'Connor, what the hell?' she helped him to the sofa, where she laid him, ignoring the very obvious fact that he would bleed all over the upholstery. She looked at him for a moment, mind still trying to understand his arrival, but then kicked into the mindset ingrained by her first aid classes. She leaned over and began to gently remove his coat, trying not to jostle him. She blinked at the sight of the holster and weapons strapped over his black shirt and shook her head. She threw the coat into the armchair, and pointed a finger at the holster.

'Take it off, I'm going to get something.' She was brisk and businesslike in her tone, brooking no room for argument. He watched her turn her back and head towards the bathroom, then obeyed her commands. She heard the dull thud as he dropped it on the floor as she dug through the sink cabinet, looking for her first aid kit, which was always well stocked. She grabbed a few towels out of the linen cabinet before returning to the living room and depositing them on the floor next to the sofa. She was off again to the kitchen, retrieving a large earthenware bowl from above the fridge and filling it with warm water from the tap. Connor was struggling to sit up when she came back.

'What the hell happened?' she asked, setting the bowl down and kneeling beside the couch, opening the first aid kit. She began pulling out rolls of gauze and gauze pads, and a pair of scissors, arranging them on the opened lid. She paused and looked up at him, waiting patiently for an answer.

'Somethin' wen' wrong.' He grunted, "Mo' men than we were expectin'. Weren't prepared.'

She nodded, deciding that she could dig for more of an answer later. Now was not the time to pry. Her deft fingers were working at his shirt where it was tucked into the jeans. She worked it out and began to pull it up and over his torso. 'Arms up.' She ordered as if to a three year old, gently pulling his shirt off, eyes scanning for any major wounds. There was a deep wound on his upper right arm, but that seemed to be the worst besides a number of bruises and little scrapes. The leg wound was going to be nasty, judging from the blood there, and Aislinn decided that the jeans would have to come off too. She threw the shirt over to the chair to join the coat and began to undo the belt. She felt a hand clasp over hers, trying to stop her.

'What are you doing?'

'For the love of…" Aislinn shook her head irritably,'I'm not going to molest you, Connor. If I'm going to treat that wound, these pants are coming off.' She looked at him, daring him to argue. He removed his hand and she continued her task. The part of her that felt embarrassed by what she was doing was tucked too far back to really make an argument over it at the moment. Judging from Connor's reaction when she pulled on the jeans, the leg wound was doubtless the worst of it all. She got her fist view of it, a deep hole in his left thigh, as she tugged down the jeans. She belatedly realized that the jeans were not going to come off over the workboots he wore, so she quickly started to pull them off. Moments later, Connor lay on the sofa clad only in boxers and socks, the rest of his clothing piled in the armchair. She was wetting one of the towels now, and began to wipe down the blood that had run down his body. She set the towel aside and dug through the first aid kit for some antiseptic wipes, and began work on the more minor wounds. She paused as she came upon the wound on his arm, and took up the towel again. It wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches, but it was too deep for the basic care she administering to the lesser wounds. She could wrap it for now, and deal with it later. A gauze pad was taped over it then wrapped with another long strip of gauze. She shook her hair back and proceeded down to the leg wound. She gently prodded the area around it, feeling him buck with the pain. Okay, it was a nasty one. She reached up and turned the reading lamp to shed a little more light on her patient. It was bad, worse than anything Aislinn had been exposed to in her life. It looked almost as if a bullet had torn through the side of his thigh, taking off a small chunk of meat with it.

'Fuckin' bullet.' He informed her, as if responding to something she had said and not thought. She wiped away a bit more of the blood then shook her head.

'I can't do anything for it, Connor. You need a hospital.'

'No hospitals, Aislinn.' She stared, disbelieving, and rose to her feet, bloody towel in hand.

'Connor, you need to see a doctor. You've been shot for crying out loud!' her voice rose and she snapped the towel in the air. 'There is no choice here!' She spun on her heel, intending to call for a cab, seeing as her own vehicle was somewhere in Maine, being driven by her sister. Connor grabbed her hand and held her fast.

'Aislinn, listen to me.' His voice had gone hard and she turned, unsure of what to expect. 'There is to be no hospitals, no ambulances, no doctors.' He tried to soften his voice a little, noting the fear that had suddenly leapt into her features. 'I'll explain later, okay?'

She nodded mechanically and blinked, trying to make sense of what very little she knew. The confusion and the warring mindsets made her dizzy. Connor felt her relax and released her hand. 'What do you want me to do?' she asked quietly, sounding defeated.

'Clean the wound as best you can. We'll have to cauterize it,' she winced, and he knew how she felt. 'You have an iron or something?' she nodded again, eyes drifting back towards the bathroom. 'Heat it on the stove, use that.' She turned silently and headed to the bathroom, returning with the iron in hand. In silence she went to the kitchen and did as she had been instructed, placing the iron on the stove burner, making sure the cord didn't come in contact and melt before she could return to the kitchen. She came back to kneel next to the sofa, taking a clean towel and folding it before wetting it and raising it to Connor's leg again. She cleaned the wound as best she could, then sat back, dropping the towel to the floor. She got stiffly to her feet and went to the kitchen, where the iron sat ready. She looked down on Connor, who was now folding a small washcloth and rearranging himself on the couch. She dropped to her knees before him and held her breath and bit her lip as she brought the iron down to press it against his flesh.

Aislinn felt his hand clamp on her shoulder as she pressed hot iron to flesh. He bucked and trembled with what must be intense pain, but she didn't hear more than a gasp from him. Surely he must be screaming inside. The smell of burning blood and crisped flesh made her stomach turn, and she swallowed against the rising bile in the back of her throat. She pulled the iron away for a quick moment, judging its heat and the wound. She bit her lip harder and pressed the iron back down, feeling another spasm rip through Connor and subsequently through her shoulder. She would discover the bruises there in the morning. Another few seconds and the iron was pulled away for good, and Aislinn rose, taking it with her to the kitchen. Connor was shaking and sweating, and he struggled to draw a deep breath. He heard her retching quietly in the kitchen, then the water running. She wiped a hand across her mouth as she came back to him. She carefully measured out a length of gauze tape and cut it before winding it around his leg. She taped it in place and sat back, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. Without a word she stood and extended a hand to him, and once he took it, helped him to his feet. She walked with him to the spiral staircase and helped him slowly up it to her bedroom. Once there she pointed to the bed, and shook her head before he could begin to protest. No sooner than he had laid back on the bed she was gone again, and he could hear the sounds of her cleaning up downstairs. Weariness wracked his body as he lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking of why he was here. By the time she returned, he was asleep. Aislinn curled into a chair by the small desk and watched him in the last of the moonlight.

Her eyes drifted restlessly in the dark, going from the man sleeping in her bed to the photo of her, Maggie, and their mother; to the cross that hung on the wall. Feeling an overwhelming sense of loss and frustration she quietly padded down the stairs once more, and across the apartment. She took the small velvet pouch from where it sat on the kitchen counter and retreated back the way she had come. In her bedroom once more she looked again to Connor, and assuring herself that he was indeed asleep, went and knelt before the cross. Head bowed she began to recite the cycle of prayers she'd said every day since the night she had seen her mother die. Something connected that night with this one, and Aislinn hoped she could find it through prayer. Sometime in the following hours, while she knelt exhausted, whispering prayers to the heavens, Connor awoke and glimpsed her there, then fell back asleep to the rhythmic recitation and the sound of beads sliding against one another in the dark. As sleep claimed him once more he wondered if the prayers were meant for him or Aislinn herself.

.-.-.-.


	9. Chapter Nine

_**Chapter Nine**_

Something pulled Aislinn slowly from her comfortable sleep. A dull pounding and a vaguely shaped voice that seemed to be yelling her name. She knew she should see to the door, and find out what the person was demanding of her but she was so sleepy and comfortable. She closed her eyes as the world became more and more solid to her senses. A sigh escaped her lips and she pulled the comforter with her as she rolled onto her side, and she met resistance.

_What the_… She forced her eyes open once again, and peered into the morning sunlight that streamed across her bed. Aislinn blinked, once, twice; trying to comprehend what she was looking at. Jumbled memories from the night before began to surface in her mind, the pieces slowly coming together. She remembered meeting Connor at the door, asking him what had happened. She remembered his absolute insistence that she care for him, and that she would _not_ be allowed to call for an ambulance.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered holding the iron against his leg. Her stomach bucked and rebelled, threatening to send her rushing to the bathroom. She swallowed against the bile and looked at the peaceful face beside her again. He looked so different in sleep, so much… younger, more carefree. As if he didn't have the weight of the world crushing down on him.

But how did she get in bed with him? Aislinn didn't remember climbing into bed with him. The last thing she could clearly remember was kneeling in front of the cross, reciting the rosary over and over again while being haunted by visions of her mother, the man in her bed, and the man in her dreams. There was nothing about crawling into bed in her memories.

The pounding on the door had stopped suddenly, and Aislinn rolled back over, looking towards the open bedroom door. A strange silence permeated the apartment and Aislinn began to raise herself up on one elbow. She felt Connor shift beside her and she cast a quick glance at him. Waking up, but still not fully awake. The clock in her room seemed abnormally loud as she held her breath, waiting for noise. She heard heavy footsteps out in the hall, and she wondered if it was some delivery guy who wouldn't take no for an answer. Why couldn't he just leave the package with Maggie?

_Because she's not here, idiot._

As the thought ran through her head she heard her name ring out again, followed by a demand that she open the door. Aislinn sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. _Like hell,_ she thought as she began to rise. No sooner did she have footing did a horrifying crack and splintering meet her ears. Her eyes went wide and she heard Connor grunt in the bed behind her. The fucking asshole was trying to break down her door!

'Oh _fuck_ no!' she cried out, reaching for the door. Connor was sitting up now, trying to blink sleep from his eyes and comprehend what was going on.

'Aislinn, wha' the fuck?' By the time he found his voice she was halfway down the spiral staircase.

'Stay there!' she ordered, followed by a muttered string of curses. For all the picture of innocence about her, the woman had a mouth. Connor fought with the sheets and eased his feet to the floor. He heard the creaking of the door, and knew that it wasn't going to last much longer. Hell if he was going to let his benefactor run headlong into dangerous territory.

Aislinn ran across the hardwood floors, skidding into the kitchen and grabbing for the knife on the counter. Her door gave in at the same moment as she came back around the counter brandishing her weapon. She stared at her intruder, surprise giving way to irritation, and that in turn giving way to contempt.

'Ryan, you stupid fucking idiot! What the hell did you break my door down for?' she glared malevolently up at him, his height and bulk towering over her.

'Aislinn…' he growled, and it struck her that she was seeing a side of her brother-in-law that she had never even contemplated before. She sized him up in the fraction of a second before he started moving towards her. He was armed, and even with her hand to hand skills, a knife was no match for a gun. She was opening her mouth to address him again when another voice came from the top of the stairs.

'Aislinn? The fuck…' Her eyes followed Ryan's line of sight up to Connor, who was wearing boxers and leaning heavily on the doorframe. Aislinn backed towards the stairs, a few steps ahead of her intruder.

'Not a step further, Ryan.' her grey eyes ablaze like a late summer storm, her voice low and edged with steel. 'You are to leave this house right _now_.'

Ryan ignored her, right hand going for his holster as he remained focused on Connor. 'You don't know what this man has done, Linn. I can't let you protect him.' There was a bit of pleading in his voice, but Aislinn was having none of it.

'Get out of my home, Ryan.' she snarled, and lashed out with the knife. The tip caught him across the belly and drew a line through his shirt. A moment later blood welled from the cut and Ryan looked down at it. Before Aislinn could react she felt herself being bodily picked up and flying across the room. She went limp as she hit the floor, rolling and trying to soften the impact. The knife skittered across the floor away from her. For a moment Ryan looked genuinely sorry as he began to mount the stairs. "I'm sorry you have to see this, Linn.'

She huffed as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Her right wrist hurt like hell, and didn't want to work right. Fear flooded her vision as she watched Ryan ascend on Connor, who was hobbling back into the bedroom. She cast a look about the room, looking for something. There, not even a foot away, was Connor's holster. She leaned and pulled one of his guns from it, testing the weight in her hands. It had been a long time since she had done this. Conscious thought slipped away as she deftly thumbed off the safety and cocked the gun. Ryan must've heard it because he paused, three steps from the top, and looked back at her.

Connor could barely see Aislinn at the edge of his vision, but the sound that reached her ears was one he knew all too well. He threw himself behind the wall, out of Ryan's line of sight and hopefully out of his aim. He watched the gunman's hand swing back towards Aislinn, waver there for a moment, then begin to swing back level with him.

'Aislinn, put it down!' Ryan was yelling, still looking back at her out of the corner of his eye. "You won't shoot me. Just let me have the Mick and I won't let anything happen to you."

'Leave him the fuck alone, Ryan!' Aislinn yelled in reply. Struggling to her feet she saw Ryan top the stairs. She heard him cock his own weapon and knew she had to make a decision.

Connor could see Ryan with frightening detail as he entered the room. _Some fucking way to die_. his mind snarled as he tried to push himself back to his feet. His wounded leg wouldn't take it, and all he managed to do was get halfway up before collapsing again.

'Any last words, paddy?' Ryan asked, leveling the barrel at Connor's forehead. Connor set his gaze hard, and opened his mouth. His words were silenced as he watched Ryan's head explode outward and onto him in a red-pink cloud.

'Shit…' replaced the 'fuck you' that was about to roll off his tongue. He grabbed the edge of the bed and began to pull himself up onto it. There were feet pounding up the staircase and Aislinn appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. She took the scene in and stared for a long moment at the body on the floor before her. Her eyes darted up to meet Connor's and he could see the adrenaline drain out of her. She stumbled to him and fell onto the bed, the gun still clutched tight in her left hand. He carefully took it from her, safed it, and set it aside on the bed before gathering her up into his arms.

Aislinn buried her face in Connor's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing in the scent of him. 'Fuck, Connor,' she whispered against his skin.

'It'll be okay.' he assured her, taking in the mess around them.

'We have to get out of here.' she announced, pulling back, as if she had read his own thoughts. He nodded solemnly, agreeing with her.

'Aye.'

She leaned over the side of the bed and pulled out a well worn black duffel, obviously well packed, and pulled it into her lap. Connor saw her right wrist and moved to take it in his hand gently.

'You're hurt again.' he said softly. Aislinn shrugged, trying to ignore the pain.

'We'll take care of it later. We have to go.' and with that she pulled away from him and stood, slinging the strap of the duffel over her shoulder. 'Can you walk?' she asked him. Connor grunted and pushed to his feet, leaning on her left shoulder.

She led him down the stairs and across her apartment, only pausing to grab her cell phone and her purse. The car was somewhere in Maine, so that option was out.

God, how was she going to explain this to Maggie?

.-.-.-.


	10. Chapter Ten

_**Chapter Ten**_

It all had to be a bad dream. That was the only plausible explanation for the events of the past twenty four hours. One long, drawn out, hyper-realistic bad dream. No, more like a nightmare. Any moment now, now that she had come to this realization, Aislinn would awake to the sound of the phone ringing and her sister berating her for sleeping in so late.

The phone _was_ ringing. _See?_ She told herself, _there's Maggie now, ringing and spreading good will to me..._ but there was something not quite right with that thought, and Aislinn still couldn't pinpoint it. Slowly her mind started to acknowledge sounds other than the ringing phone, she really should answer that...

Then somebody else did. Someone decidedly male. Someone who was decidedly _not_ supposed to be in humble home. Consciousness pushed itself quickly to the surface of her thoughts and her eyes opened. She blinked, blearily, trying to register something familiar, but the problem was, nothing was familiar. Not the sights, not the smells, not the feelings of her bed in her home. Growing more alarmed as she grew more aware, Aislinn pushed herself upright from her sleeping position, surprised to find herself in a room that was not alone.

_I've been fucking KIDNAPPED!_

But that wasn't right either.

The covers lay piled in her lap as she sat there, staring around the dimly lit room. Definitely not her kind of interior decorating. The ceiling and walls were cracked and water-stained, the paint chipped and peeling in some places. Turning her head, she saw her duffel unceremoniously crowning a pile of clothes in one corner. She closed her eyes again, trying to piece together what the hell was going on. She heard footsteps and voices coming, and panic flooded through her. She clutched the covers up to her chest, heart pounding, as she debated what to do as the doorknob turned.

_Fuck!_

And finally, something familiar; or more precisely, _someone_ familiar. Connor's face peered through the open door, and he smiled a bit as he saw Aislinn sitting up in bed.

'Afternoon. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up.'

Aislinn managed a quavery smile and relaxed a little. She wanted to say something but the only thing that came out was a quiet 'Ummmm...'

Connor came fully into the room and closed the door behind him. Aislinn saw that he held a cup of steaming tea and he proffered it to her like an embarrassed child. 'Tea?'

'Thank you.' she managed this time and gratefully took the cup of brew from him. Connor gingerly came to sit on the mattress and faced her as she took a sip. It was strong, and she smirked a little, thinking about how much Maggie would hate it.

And then it hit her.

'Oh, God!' She managed to just barely keep the tea cup from spilling into her lap as Connor watched her go from relaxed to completely tensed again. Carefully, he moved closer to her on the mattress and carefully took the tea from her hands, setting it on the floor next to the bed. Tears began to well in Aislinn's eyes as the realization of what she wrongly took as a bad dream was really what had taken place. Everything flooded back in vivid detail, and she felt the pain that she'd forgotten in her hand. 'I killed Ryan, didn't I?' she whispered to Connor, looking down at her hands, then back up at him.

'Aye.' he confirmed.

'And he was going to kill you. You came to my apartment last night. You... You had been shot, and Ryan came this morning and broke in, and... oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod...' She choked out a sob and buried her face in her hands. Connor gently pulled her to him, holding her and stroking her hair.

'Aislinn, shhhh... Aislinn, you did right this morning, you did nothing wrong. Nothing. If you hadn't shot Ryan he'd've killed me, and then he'd've killed you...' he paused, taking a deep breath, realizing something that completely horrified him. 'Or worse.' Connor finished. 'You did what you had to do.' He held her tighter, reliving the events just as she was. He was oblivious as footsteps pounded down the hallway outside.

Connor's head jerked up as the door burst open, being greeted with a loud 'Connor, wha' the fuck?!' Aislinn's head also snapped up and around to see who the intruder was. 'Awww, its your _girlfriend_!' crowed the intruder. 'Da! Come quick! Connor's got his girlfriend here!'

'Murph, shut the fuck up!' Connor yelled, grabbing around on the mattress for something to throw, but it was a moot point as Murphy ducked back out, leaving the door open, his voice bouncing down the hall as he again announced that Connor had his 'girlfriend' here. 'My brother.' he explained helplessly. Aislinn laughed through her tears. 'I remember him from church. He laughed at me.' The relative solitude didn't last long as Murph bounded back into the room, and with a showman's flair, presented his father to the pair.

'Connor...' Da MacManus began, but trailed off into silence as his eyes met with Aislinn's. Silence blanketed the room as Aislinn stared at Da, her mouth agape for several moments before she closed it, then opened it again. Connor felt her squeeze his hand, hard, and he in turn stared at her as well. When she finally spoke the only word that came out was 'You.'

And in much surprise to everyone, including himself, the eldest MacManus answered with a quiet 'Aye.' Another silence settled on them until Murphy broke it, pointing at Aislinn and staring at his father. 'You know her?'

'Aye, I do. We met a long time ago.' A fatherly smile crossed his worn face. 'You've grown up.' He told her. Aislinn straightened a bit and managed a smile in return. 'I have, and you've stayed the same.'

'Not quite, dear.'

Connor recovered his voice now and shook his head. 'Someone mind explanin' what is going on here?'

Aislinn sighed, and met Connor's gaze. 'Its a long story...'

.-.-.-.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_**Chapter Eleven**_

'My father wasn't exactly the most stand-up guy you'd ever meet.' Aislinn admitted as a way of beginning. 'That's not to say that he didn't provide for us or love us, it was just in the way he did things. I was seven when I found out that my father had a second job in addition to being a banker. I guess in hindsight I should've noticed something, but I was a kid, so who could fault me?

'We had a huge house by the lake in Dracut, and the best of everything money could buy. My sister and I were enrolled at St. Mary's. Our brother went there as well, he was in high school, the product of Dad's first marriage. Only after Maggie and I came to Boston did we learn why we had the best of everything.

'Dad was working for the mob, laundering money. For his services, he got a cut of what he processed, and believe me, it wasn't tiny. Following in his daddy's footsteps, Sean, my brother, got involved as well, beginning as a package boy.'

Both Connor and Murph flinched a little at the words 'package boy', remembering Rocco.

'Well, the short story of that is that Sean got too big for his britches. He did something to somebody and pissed off the boss. Unfortunately for the family, Sean's 'buddies' that he had screwed over decided to take revenge on him, and our family. So one Friday evening as we all sat down to dinner, Dad and Sean got into an argument over what Sean had done. That was ironic because no sooner had they started then the front door bangs open and we find ourselves faced a few moments later by these big guys with guns.

'They forced all of us outside, and Ma was hugging me and Maggie to her, trying to calm us even though she herself was hysterical.'

Aislinn took a shuddering breath, and her eyes felt hot and wet, it was so hard to relive this. She gripped Connor's hand tight and received a squeeze in return. She could feel her throat tighten as she forced herself to continue.

'They shot Sean first, making us watch, then Dad. I thought it was over at that point, but then one of the guys grabbed for Ma, and pulled her away from us. I don't really remember much besides running after her, trying to hit the guy who was taking her away. Maggie just stood back where she was, watching us, I suppose. I...I didn't get anything out of my efforts except a couple good knocks to my head.

'Then... Then they shot Ma. Everything seemed to stop then, and then began again in slow motion, and that's when he,' she pointed to Da MacManus, 'Showed up.'

Da nodded as he now became the center of attention in the room. 'Aye. I was sent to take care of the boys, since they'd gone out there without orders or permission or the like. I arrived late, but seeing you two girls about to...' his voice faltered as he worked for a proper simile, then just gave up. 'I couldn't let that happen.'

Aislinn was wiping away tears with the back of her hand as she stared up at him. In a small voice she spoke up. 'I asked you who you were but you wouldn't give me an answer.' Connor held tighter to her, his mind reeling from the similarities to his won strange dreams he'd had. Da MacManus was slowly kneeling down in front of Aislinn, a large weathered hand coming out to gently cup her chin.

'Some might call me a saint.'

.-.-.-.

Connor remained by Aislinn's side as his father and brother left a few minutes later. Aislinn still looked as exhausted as he felt. In silence he hugged her as they both sat unmoving on the mattress. Aislinn rested her head against his shoulder, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.

'How's your wrist?' he finally asked, bringing Aislinn back out of her daze. He took it gently in his, lifting it from where she had been cradling it in her lap.

'It looks horrible, but I can move it, see? Not broken.' She waggled it up and down, biting her lip, 'But it hurts, and I prolly shouldn't. There's a wrist thingie in my bag, I should put it on.' As Aislinn began to slide her legs out from under the covers, Connor got to his feet, motioning for her to stay put. She smiled a bit as he unzipped the duffel and rummaged though it.

'What do you have in here?' he asked incredulously, pulling out a well-used laptop, followed by an overtly large and well stocked first aid kit.

'Stuff. For emergencies.' It earned her a quizzical look, but Connor had finally found the 'wrist thingie' and was returning to his spot on the mattress. He helpfully opened the box and removed its contents. As he took her wrist again to begin the process of getting the 'thingie' on, Aislinn smiled at him.

'When I was little, Ma always used to kiss our hurts before putting on a bandage or whatnot.' and then she looked sheepish. 'Not that you have to or anything, I was just remembering...' she hurried to add.

Connor smiled in return, lifting her hand to his lips and bestowing a gently kiss on her wrist before sliding it into the wrist support. 'Better now?' he asked.

'Defiantly.' she replied, stifling a yawn.

Connor began to rise from the mattress again. 'I'll let you get some sleep, you look like you need it.' Before he could get more than a step away, Aislinn was leaning up to catch his hand.

'Don't leave me, Connor.' and it was all it took. He was back down next to her, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her as they lay back on his mattress. As she snuggled her face into his arm he pulled the covers over them, and all too quickly, they were both asleep.

.-.-.-.

The brothers' father stood silent in the tiny living room, staring blankly out the grimy, cracked window that afforded a view of nothing, but if you scrunched your face up against it and looked hard, you might catch a glimpse of the river. Murphy was pawing through the fridge looking for another beer. Finally securing one, he pulled his head back, closing the door as he popped the tab on the can.

'What do you make of it, Da?' he asked, leaning against the wall where the living room connected with the kitchen. 'Its a small world after all.' Murph continued to muse, pushing himself from the wall and heading in the direction of the bedroom he shared with his brother. His father turned from the window.

'Leave them be, Murphy.' he scolded, sinking down into the old recliner, letting a sigh escape. He felt so old, now. So old. But after seeing her, _Aislinn_, he mentally corrected, everything that had happened that night rushed back in perfect detail, along with the memories of his lifetime. Part of him had hoped that his boys wouldn't turn out to be like him, but, here they were, following in his blackened footsteps, but carrying some sort of luck so far. They'd gained a grudging acceptance from the authorities, even getting help with a few situations. Da looked over to Murphy, who was sprawled out on the couch, with his nose buried in a tattered copy of National Geographic, for once, and not immersed in some goddamned television show. Each dealt with stress in his own way, Da mused. He bent his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. Heaving another heavy sigh, he leaned back into the recliner and let himself drift off into some much needed rest.

.-.-.-.

An unusual smell awoke the MacManus patriarch from his slumber, along with the crash of a pan and a very unladylike curse in a very ladylike voice from the kitchen. He cleared his throat, and Aislinn spun around, pan up for defense, an embarrassed tinge in her cheeks.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.' She carefully set the pan on the counter and came around into the living room.

'What,' he asked, nodding to the kitchen, 'Are you doing in there?'

'Um, cooking dinner.' She knew the next question before it came. 'I ran down the block to get some stuff, you really didn't have too much in the cupboards.' Again she blushed and smiled. 'And its my pleasure.'

Da nodded and looked about for Murphy who was no longer on the couch. His eyes went back to Aislinn, and again she answered before he could voice the question.

'He's asleep, in his room. So's Connor.' and she went back to poking through cupboards, trying to find where she had placed something. Da was slightly surprised to see them a little fuller than normal. He shook his head and reached for the remote that lay abandoned on the dangerously lopsided coffee table. He turned on the television and settled in to watch the evening news. Aislinn glanced back over her shoulder in curiosity as she continued to prep supper for all of them. She managed to drop the spoon she was using to stir the stock into it when her apartment came on screen. Slowly she turned, staring in fascination.

Mindlessly she muttered something about all the policemen in her house, and how they were going to make such a mess out of the place. Da MacManus looked back at her. 'Your place?'

'Yeah.'

Thankfully they didn't show a picture of Ryan's dead body or the bedroom, but Aislinn was surprised to find that she was now more horrified than ever. She'd killed her sister's husband, her brother-in-law, and now there were police in her home. While there was no picture of Ryan, who was helpfully referred to as a 'mob enforcer', which confirmed all of Aislinn's doubts of the past ten years, they did show a picture of herself on the screen. It did nothing to help her state.

Her 'Hey, that's me.' came out at the same time as Murph's 'Hey, that's you.' as he and Connor entered the living room. Aislinn met Connor's eyes then looked back to the television as Da and Murphy looked at each other, then Aislinn, then the television again. Aislinn stared at the television, listening numbly as the reporter gravely told the viewing audience that Aislinn was presumed missing, perhaps taken by the same person who committed this crime, and gave a nice little physical description of her and a number to call if sighted.

She felt cold all over. They thought someone else had done this. They didn't have any idea that it was her own doing, to protect a man they probably thought _did_ do it. Aislinn gripped the lip of the counter, knuckles white against the ugly burnt orange. Oh fuck, she was in the shit deep this time.

She turned back to the small stove as Murph piped up, pointing at the television. 'Hey! Look! There's Smecker!' all of the men's faces took on a look of surprise, then trouble as the FBI agent came on screen and promptly sidled up to the trio of detectives standing at the edge of view. 'Looks like the gang's all here.' Murph added, flopping on the couch. Connor stared at the screen a moment longer, then crossed in front of it to get to the kitchen. Aislinn was fishing about in her stock for the spoon she'd lost with a second utensil, she didn't acknowledge Connor's arrival. She succeeded in retrieving her spoon and set it on a paper towel to cool as she stared blankly at the simmering liquid.

'Hey,' Connor said quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder, 'Are you alright?'

Aislinn slowly set the new spoon down and reached her hand up to brush away Connor's. 'I'm fine.'

Connor stared as if he'd just been hit. Aislinn kept her back to him, turning away to take up a knife and begin attacking some vegetables that sat on a brand new cutting board. Da looked up at them, as if he could feel the cold that seemed to be emanating from the kitchen. Murph was oblivious, staring at the television, one hand feeling about the couch cushions for the remote.

'Aislinn, are you sure?' Connor asked a bit louder this time, still getting no physical response from the woman who had saved his life.

'I'm. Fine.' it sounded as if the answer came through gritted teeth, and the knife came down hard against the cutting board, sending a piece of carrot flying. It landed at Connor's feet and he stared at it for a second. His voice became a bit stern as he took a step forward. 'Aislinn, I...' as his hand came out to reach for her again, she whipped around baring the knife menacingly, her voice raised to a near yell.

'What the fuck do you _not_ understand, Connor?! I said I. Was. FINE! God fucking dammit! What do you want me to say, that I'm completely fucked?!' Now both Murph and his da were on their feet, looking unsure whether to stay where they were or to leap into the kitchen. Aislinn saw them and turned a venomous glare at them before whipping her gaze back to Connor.

'GODDAMMIT!' she yelled one last time before throwing the knife at what seemed to be Connor's head. Both men in the living room lost no time in diving towards the kitchen as Connor stared stupidly at the knife that was hurtling through the air scant inches from him. It landed with a thud in the far wall as Aislinn followed it, leaving the three men staring after her in stunned silence.

'What the fuck was that about?' managed Da when they'd all began to breathe again. Down the hall they heard a door slam, followed by another round of cursing.

'You didn't tell us she was nuts.' offered Murph, Connor glared at him and reached for the knife in the wall, yanking it free.

'Fuck you, Murph.' he replied as he smacked the knife down on the counter.

'Go to her, Connor.' counseled his father. Connor eyed him warily as he exited the kitchen.

'Make sure she doesn't have anymore sharp objects, though.' called Murph.

'Fuck..' began Connor.

'Me. Yeah, yeah, sure.' Finished Murph, dropping back onto the couch. Both he and his father waited in silence as Connor's footsteps retreated down the hall and thy heard the bedroom door open and shut again. Murph lay back and stretched his hands up behind his head.

'She's takin' this hard, ain't she, Da?'

Da nodded as he settled back into his recliner, taking a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray on the end table next to him.

'Aye, and you could be better to your brother about it.'

Murph nodded sagely, as if considering this. 'Aye, but then I wouldn't be his brother.' He smiled and looked back to the television, leaving his father to shake his head as he lit his cigar.

.-.-.-.

The room was semi-dark as Connor slid in through the door, alert should something else come flying in his direction. 'Aislinn?'

'Go away.' came the firm response from the direction of his mattress. In the half-light he saw a lump under the thin covers. Sighing and bracing himself for injury, he settled onto the mattress next to the lump. He reached out a hand and placed it on the lump's hip. The lump rolled away.

'Aislinn, please.' he softened his voice, hoping it would help. He did get more of a response this time, the covers whipping off as Aislinn glared at him.

'What, you don't understand 'go away' either? Perhaps in another language?'

He shook his head, 'I understand fine, Aislinn, but I'm not going away and I know that you're not fine.' And she growled at him. Connor blinked, never actually having ever been _growled_ at before. She didn't disappear under the covers again so he took this as a sign to continue speaking. 'Look, Linn...' her glare became harder at his uninvited use of her nickname. She wouldn't have minded him using it, but not now, not when she was feeling so screwed up and was trying her damnedest to be mad at him instead of just herself. He continued as if he didn't notice her unspoken command to never call her that again. 'I know that today and last night have not been easy on you, and if I had any choice, I would've never have put you in the position I did.'

'But you did have a choice.' she rebutted, 'You could've gone home with your father and brother after what-in-god's-name-ever you were doing and left me out of it, which then, in turn, would've never have caused me to stay up to all hours worrying about yourself and myself, and wouldn't have caused Ryan to fucking kick my door down this morning and burst into my apartment and try to _kill_ you, nor would I have had to kill _him_ to protect _you_.' She pushed herself into a sitting position, arms crossed across her chest. 'You _had_ a choice, Connor MacManus, and I was it.' She leaned her head back against the wall with a solid thump.

'And I made a choice as well. I _chose_ to help you when you showed up on my doorstep last night. I _chose_ to listen to you when you told me no doctors or ambulances. I _chose_ to let you remain _after_ those choices, and finally, I _chose_ you over the husband my sister so dearly _loves_, because I _knew_ that if I didn't, no matter what he said, I would've ended up as dead as you would've had I _chose_ him.' She was staring at the ceiling the entire time, with Connor staring at her. He didn't interrupt in the time she gave him, so she continued. 'And I _chose_ to leave him lying there in my apartment and to come here with you. And so on and so forth. So, while you made the initial choice, I made the series of choices that has me where I am right now, Connor.' She sighed and banged her head against the wall again. 'And,' she added, 'I _chose_ not to hit you with that knife.'

Connor stared at her for a long quiet moment, watching as she tipped her gaze back down level with his form staring at the ceiling. 'Well, before all that I was just going to say that I knew how hard it can be after seeing someone die who's been close to you and how difficult it can be to come to terms with having just murdered someone and left them there, but...' He shrugged, 'I think you can give me a discourse on that as well.'

She managed a tiny smile. 'If you want one.' She looked down at her hands and her voice came out very quiet. 'I killed my brother-in-law today, I ran off with the man he was trying to kill, whom I've met a mere one time before, and I found out from the evening news that I am presumed missing and that the city of Boston is to be on the lookout for me. It is a bit much to deal with.'

'Not to mention you tried to place a knife between the eyes of said man.'

'No, Connor, had I wanted that knife between your eyes, it would've been there. I have _very_ good aim.' she shook her head as she corrected.

'Interesting skill for a waitress to possess.' he muttered.

'Long story.' she responded. She patted a spot closer to her on the mattress. 'Come here, I promise not to bite.' Connor did as requested, scooching up next to her and wrapping his arms around her as she leaned against him.

'Murph said to make sure you didn't have anymore sharp objects.' he said into her hair, he felt her laugh.

'He gets another smack in the head for that.' a moment to collect her thoughts. 'Connor, I didn't mean to snap in the kitchen, I'd just had to much, and I needed to have someone else to be angry at besides myself, and you were the perfect candidate.'

'So you're apologizing for throwing a knife at me?'

She twisted to look up at him. 'You _still_ don't understand that it was not _at_ you and that I absolutely _meant_ to do it with no remorse?'

Connor grinned, knowing that it would annoy her, and that he could annoy her now that he had diffused her anger a bit. 'Murph was right, you are nuts.'

'That's two for him, now. Boy's soon going to have bruises.' she punched him in the leg as best she could from her position. 'And so are you.'

'Bring it on.' he announced as he bent his head to hers and gave her a gentle kiss. As they parted Connor took a hand and smoothed her hair as she curled against his chest. 'We'll deal with this together, Linn. And I promise me, Murph, and Da won't let another thing happen to you.'

'I'm gonna hold you to that, Connor.' She whispered back, closing her eyes and wondering if even they could protect her from the past that was suddenly going to catch up to her.

.-.-.-.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.  
-Horace_

Three days had passed since Aislinn's arrival to the MacManus home. She'd managed a few time to usurp the phone line for her own use with the laptop, and despite the ongoing notices for the public to be on the lookout for her, and the random pictures of her apartment appearing in some follow-up piece, she couldn't help feeling that she'd be safer in her own home rather than this tiny apartment with three armed men. She'd been quiet, typically watching the mens' comings and goings from the old recliner, kitchen, or bedroom doorway. The apartment began to show signs of her imposed confinement as she turned her attentions to cleaning, repairing, and organizing. There was no doubt the three MacManuses didn't mind having a woman around who was willing to cook and do all this for them, but for Aislinn it was simply an attempt to remain sane, and keep her mind from wandering back to seeing Ryan's head lined up in the gun's front sight.

She wrinkled her nose as she knelt before the toilet, debating whether to clean it or find out why it ran all the time first. One look at the bowl clearly decided cleaning it first for her, and she pushed herself back to her feet to go retrieve the bleach from under the kitchen sink. Both Connor and Murph had been sent on various expeditions to provide supplies for her, and she had compensated them as well, against their arguments not to.

Connor sat on the couch, cleaning one of his guns as Aislinn padded down the hall. He looked up at her as she passed. When she came back out of the kitchen with the bleach and a roll of paper towels he set the gun down on the rickety coffee table.

'You don't have to do all this, Linn.' He gently admonished her, thinking about how bad he must look for never tending to chores himself. Until Aislinn had come into the apartment, he doubted any of them had considered how they lived.

'No, I don't, but I want to. Keeps me busy.' She shrugged and went back down the hallway. Connor sighed and followed, feeling obligated to at least make an offer to help. Too bad Murph wasn't here otherwise he could coerce him into doing some things as well. Murph had gone with their Da on an errand, probably to replenish supplies before their next mission. Connor felt more tired than ever now, and after having a man's head explode on him, wondered if he was losing his stomach for violence.

Then again, he thought as he leaned against the door frame to the bathroom, watching Aislinn lean across the tub to open the window, it could just be because he was softening up and making room for other emotions. 'Need help?'

Aislinn looked him up and down, then bent and grabbed a rag which she threw at him. 'Scrub the toilet.' she ordered, stepping into the tub to make room for him in the cramped bathroom. Connor stepped in to do as she wished, and Aislinn again wondered why all men weren't so easily commanded. She laughed as even he gagged a little at the sight of the toilet, which probably hadn't seen a scrubbing in at least ten years by her estimate. She was about to say something when the phone began ringing down the hall. Connor saw his chance to escape from his new job, but Aislinn stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder for balance as she stepped out of the tub and over him.

'I'll get it, you get scrubbing. Dump some bleach in the bowl and give a it few minutes to sit, it might help.' Connor was making objections, less worried about the condition of the toilet bowl than the results of having Aislinn answer the phone. What if it was someone who...? His mind raced through a thousand possibilities to that as he heard her 'Hello?' float through the air. He held his breath, counting each beat of his heart as he waited for her next words.

'No, Murphy's not here right now, can I take a message?' Connor setting down the bleach bottle, watching intently as Aislinn rounded the corner back into the hall. 'No, Connor's... Connor's busy.' She was giving him a look that said that he should have his hands in that toilet bowl by now. 'No, I am _not_ molesting your 'boys', what the hell would ever give you that idea?' Aislinn was slowing, listening to the caller's response to her question. Her eyes went wide and Connor was ready to spring to his feet. 'My name's Aislinn, for your information, and I'd prefer you not to call me that again; and why should it matter who I am when you won't even tell me who you are while you accuse me of molesting people?!' Aislinn stopped altogether and held the phone away from her mouth as she yelled 'He's not HERE!' at the ceiling. Connor was on his feet and coming down the hallway now, perplexed. 'Lady, you are fucking insane, okay? Here, talk to Connor, and he's not being molested.' Aislinn practically threw the phone at Connor then stormed down the hallway to the bathroom as Connor fumbled the phone and raised it to his ear.

'Hello?' Aislinn watched, seating herself on the edge of the tub and waiting for his reaction to the woman on the other end of the line. He was silent, nodding as the woman surely gave her molesting speech to him, then came the worst words Aislinn could've ever hoped to hear: 'Yes, Ma, I did hear her call you fucking insane.' Aislinn gave sudden thought to trying to drown herself in the toilet bowl then and there. Connor was heading back toward the living room now, leaving her to devise her preferred method of suicide in the bathroom by herself. 'No, Ma, I'm sure she didn't mean it. Well, you did accuse her first.' came back to Aislinn, who was now contemplating the bleach bottle by her feet. Only she could commit the world's greatest faux pas.

'Love you too, Ma.' Finally came and she heard Connor head back in her direction. A funeral dirge resounded in her head, and she couldn't figure out why Connor was smiling at her.

'Connor, I...' she started, trying to piece together the perfect apology but he stopped her.

'Don't worry, Linn, she seems to like you.' and with that he was back on his knees before the toilet, unscrewing the cap on the bleach bottle. 'Oh, and...' he remarked as he poured some of the bleach into the toilet bowl, 'She is fucking insane. Just wait til St. Patty's.'

.-.-.-.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_A/N- The author is not dead, merely suffering from interminable writer's block and a lack of desire. New year, new resolutions, new chapters. Also thanks to a new beta, Timebot, and the hopes that she will keep me on the straight and narrow._

_In a note to a previous complaint I've received a few times- Aislinn and Maeve both have Americanized pronunciations of their names. Thus, Aislinn is not 'ash-ling' and Maeve is not 'may-v'. Its the author's discretion and a nod to a very dear friend who has forbade me from naming my (possible) future daughter Aislinn since she claimed it first, so I have to put it to use somewhere._

_Chapter Thirteen_

Aislinn curled into the old recliner, hearing its old springs protest lightly as she made herself comfortable and balanced her laptop on her knees. She waited patiently through the modem's connection, and brought up the Herald's website. Three days had yielded an autopsy report on her deceased brother-in-law- dead of a gunshot wound to the head, also showing evidence of separate and previous wounds, one from a knife, which Aislinn could instantly attribute to her actions, and another possible gunshot wound. Linn grimaced as she read this, her mind turning and trying to puzzle out the bits and pieces she had. In the same article it was mentioned that she had not been seen or heard from, nor had her sister been found. The bakery staff reported to the media that Maggie had taken time off, but hadn't mentioned where she was going. Dammit, she had briefly neglected to consider Maggie. Her sister despised mobile phones, and while she owned one at Ryan's insistence, it was usually dead and left in her car's glove compartment. Aislinn shoved the laptop away and rose from the chair, heading for Connor and Murphy's bedroom.

Both of the MacManus sons were just rising when Aislinn burst in the door. Murphy protested with a 'Hey!', holding his jeans in one hand and scowling at Aislinn as she ignored him and went for her duffel bag. Connor yanked his shirt down over his head and peered at their houseguest as she dug through the bag. She left the room as quickly as she had entered, her small black cell phone pressed against her right ear. Connor and Murphy exchanged a look and Connor started out into the hall. 'Aislinn?'

She stood just in the living room, head bowed, her left hand pressed against her other ear, listening intently to the staticky ring coming through he earpiece of her phone. 'Dammit, Maggie, pick up.' she whispered through gritted teeth, ignorant of the brothers approach behind her. Her plea went unanswered, and she was greeted with voicemail. She waited through the greeting, her voice insistent and quiet as she left her message. 'Maggie, its Linn. Call me immediately. Things... happened. You need to know. Just, please, call me.' She lowered both hands and thumbed the 'end' button on the phone. Connor was beside her, Murphy a step behind.

'Aislinn?'

She turned, her face pale. 'They haven't find Maggie. She... She said she was going to Maine. The cottage, in York. She has the girls.' She looked at both of the brothers, pleading, needing answers, reassurances they didn't have. They were silent, unsure of what they could say to appease her worst fears. The moment broke, Aislinn pushed through them to the bedroom they had just exited. 'I need to go to church.'

The brothers looked at each other, looked at her back. Connor first, 'I don't know if tha's such a good...' Murphy breaking in with 'I'll go with ya.' and following her into the bedroom, ostensibly to retrieve his rosary from where it still hung on the wall by the door. Aislinn was digging once again through her duffel, this time retrieving a silk scarf and a rubber band. The scarf held between her teeth, quick fingers worked her hair into a braid. The scarf was folded diagonally and tied over her hair. Connor watched from the doorway, arms crossed, his expression a little less than grim. Murphy approached her from behind and tapped her shoulder. Aislinn turned and was greeted with a lopsided grin and an extended hand bearing a pair of dark glasses. Aislinn smiled, took the sunglasses, and turned to Connor.

'Let's go.'

.-.-.-.

The apartment of the MacManuses was within walking distance of the church they attended. Bright summer sun spilled down on the world, over the little trio walking down the sidewalk in near silence. Aislinn in jeans and a long sleeved blue tee shirt, flanked by the two brothers in black tee shirts a step behind. Both of the men smoked, and occasionally whispered something at each other. Aislinn walked along at a brisk pace, seemingly ignorant of the conversation behind her. They paused at a corner, within sight of the church, the men dropped their cigarettes to the sidewalk and crushed them out. Murphy said something loud enough in French for Aislinn to hear, and took on a look of mild shock when Aislinn's head snapped around with a biting retort about his paternity in the same language. Connor gave in to a grin for the first time that day, earning an evil glare from his brother. 'How was I to know she spoke French?' muttered Murphy.

Aislinn looked up at the roofline of the red brick church, steeple reaching into the blue sky. There were a few others making their way in through a side door, also there for mass. Aislinn briefly wondered if Father Macklepenny and her bible camp kids had missed her in the past four days. Almost a week of hiding, and for what reason? She would get off on self defense if any charges were made, so that wasn't really a concern. Protecting Maggie? More likely avoiding Maggie. But it worried her that she hadn't heard from her sister, and no one had been able to contact her. Aislinn felt a tap on her arm, brought her eyes quickly down and smiled weakly at Connor. Murphy stood holding the door open for a small white haired woman, shooting a questioning glance at his brother. Connor nodded, and for a moment, Aislinn envied their silent instinctual communication. She'd never shared that with her sister.

They walked in through the foyer, and it smelled as every Catholic church she'd ever been in- candles and incense. She dipped her fingers in the bowl of holy water, crossing herself, following Murphy with Connor in step behind her. Their little procession moved down the center aisle, and Aislinn's mouth formed a little 'o' at the sight of the massive crucifix hanging behind the altar. Murphy stopped and knelt, then slid into the pew. Aislinn followed suit, head bowed, quickly crossing herself, sliding along the well worn and polished wood. After Connor was seated she deftly flipped down the riser with her foot and went to her knees. She said the same cycle of prayers she had since she had first learned them, kneeling next to her bed with her mother and sister.

Finished, crossing herself, she sat back on the pew, looking around the church, taking it in. The brothers still knelt, and she heard the familiar slide of rosary beads in their hands. To the right of the altar, a woman slipped in and took her place at the keyboard there, another woman joined her, adjusting a microphone and laying out sheet music on a stand. Light notes filled the air of the church, and after about a measure the brothers sat back on the pew with her. They were invited to sing, and Aislinn grasped at the familiarity of the hymnal, grateful for something she knew. Her clear voice lifted in song with the rest of the parishioners, and all was good for a little while.

Celebrating weekday mass was something Monsignor McNamara was reluctant to give up to his associate pastor. He saw the MacManus brothers in their customary pew as he walked down the aisle, and wondered about the woman standing between them. He would see the sadness and worry in her eyes when she came up for the Eucharist, but even as he questioned her presence and identity, eh wouldn't as much raise an eyebrow to either Connor or Murphy. It would dawn on him who she was later, while he was reading the _Herald_ and having a cup of tea.

.-.-.-.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_Chapter Fourteen_

Everything hurt. Her head, her arms, her legs, her right hip, and a suspiciously tender spot on her ribs as she breathed. Face pressed into the soft warm down of the pillow she contemplated and catalogued her pains, noting each and trying to recall how it happened. The hip, for instance, was struck by a badly aimed dive for cover, misjudging the distance between bed and wall. Walls, she would hasten to remember then, were not forgiving when impacted. Cover had been achieved as she had slid, biting her lip, down into the slim space, breathing dust and fear. A rosary in one hand, a gun in the other, and hope that neither would have to be used as she half sat, half crouched, peering over the bed, waiting. Her lips pursed against the pillowcase. Her shoulder probably ached form that same collision that had done in her hip.

She breathed deep, inhaling the light scent of lavender. Another bed, another place that was not her own. Steeling herself for her actions, knowing that her head would protest any movement, Aislinn rolled over. She was grateful to find, once she had managed to open her eyes, that the room was dim. Lines of bright light shone on the ceiling, spilling around the top edges of dark drapes that shaded the window. It was a guest room of the type you'd find at Aunt Martha's- well appointed and littered with throw pillows on any surface for sitting or sleeping. Obviously being in the employ of the government was not a bad thing. Slowly she sat up, her head throbbing, and she sat still, eyes half closed, staring at her hands in her lap, trying to reconcile the events of the past twenty-four hours.

.-.-.-.

Monsignor McNamara smiled benignly at his flock. 'The Mass is ended, go in peace.' He pronounced, adding a typically Irish wink at the end, earning smiles from even the most Stoic parishioners. The pianist struck up the opening chords of the tune 'Simple Gifts' as the cantor asked the congregation to open their hymnals, that today's recessional would be 'Lord of the Dance'. Aislinn sang the familiar tune, a smile lighting her face. The Monsignor nodded at the little trio, a hint of curiosity in his features, as he passed back up the aisle with the rest of the celebrants. The second verse had just begun when the brothers slipped out of the pew, both kneeling and crossing themselves. Linn stuttered through a line, edging to the end of the pew, wondering where they were going and if she was to follow. She watched, intrigued, as they approached and bowed before the altar. The entered the sanctified space and each bowed to kiss the great Christ's feet. A beat, they stood, reverent, then stepped from the altar space, bowing again and retreating back up the aisle. Aislinn noted no one even blinked or missed a note as the brothers had gone through their motions, as if they were all familiar with the ritual. Linn couldn't imagine Father Macklepenny allowing something like that, no matter how reverent and pious it was, to occur in his church. Murphy motioned her out of the pew as they approached, the brothers slowing as she stowed the hymnal and knelt, crossing herself, as she stepped from the pew.

Outside the brothers were quite, following with another ritual- lighting their cigarettes on the steps, as Linn waited in her borrowed sunglasses for them. They trotted down the steps, agreeably chatting with each other, Aislinn feeling left out in their wake. They didn't seem to notice the monsignor watching them as they passed the rectory, but Aislinn caught sight of him in the window, and locked eyes for a moment. She wondered what he knew about the brothers, if he'd heard their tales in the privacy of the confessional. She tore her gaze away, focused ahead as Connor punched Murph in the arm for something, both of them laughing. It took her a second to realize something.

'Not to be picky, but don't you guys live in the opposite direction?' she asked, hurrying her steps to push herself in between the brothers. Murph laughed, and turned to grin at her.

'Aye, but doncha want breakfast?'

'Oh.' Now Connor laughed. Aislinn hated it, she never realized in the mornings that she was hungry until someone mentioned it to her. The brothers led her a few blocks up to a small restaurant, and Connor held the door for her, ushering her into a hole-in-the-wall place that smelled absolutely wonderful. It was obvious the MacManuses were regulars, being hailed with a chorus of greetings from various patrons and most of the staff. Aislinn watched, bemused, as the lone waitress came up and delivered a peck on Murphy's cheek before leading them to a booth in the back of the restaurant. They sat, and as the boys chatted with the waitress she devoted herself to perusing the menu. Obviously she missed something when she felt a light kick against her leg. Her head snapped up, eyes wide as the waitress, Beki, according to her nametag, repeated herself.

'Coffee, hon?' Aislinn returned the smile, forcing her senses down from overdrive.

'Um, no. Tea, please.' The waitress scribbled and said she'd be right back. Aislinn looked across the table as the brothers relaxed, Murphy leaning back in the booth and Connor leaning forward with his elbows on the table. Aislinn, toyed with her silverware, and smiled at Connor. 'So this is where you guys sneak off to every morning, I was wondering why Mass suddenly took about two hours.'

Connor grinned. 'You've found us out.'

Murphy muttered, 'Next she'll want to go to the bar with us.'

Aislinn was quick to shake her head. 'Nah, breakfast is fine, and I'm sure you and your buddies don't want a woman ruining the fun.' She abruptly forced herself to stop finger her knife, and picked up the menu again. 'So what do you guys recommend?'

'Eggs' pronounced Murphy firmly, with Connor suggesting 'Pancakes.' Murphy rolled his eyes at his brother. 'How can you eat those things? First ya drown 'em in butter than pour on a gallon of syrup.' Murphy made a face.

'They're good that way!' Connor objected. 'At least I don't cover mine in an inch of salt. Gonna give yerself a heart attack, Murphy.' Lissie giggled at the good natured arguing, thinking she probably would go for eggs, usually avoiding heavy, sweet breakfast items, unless it was a cinnamon roll. Cinnamon rolls were her weakness in the mornings.

Murph sat up and puffed his chest out, 'Never happen. 'Sides, got me a good scare when that bugger popped out 'round that corner. Yer more likely to keel over from all that butter. Leavin' me and Da to do everythi…' Murphy shut up quickly, and he jerked as if he'd just been hit. He glared at Connor and muttered an apology at Aislinn. 'Sorry. Monopolizin' the conversation. Talk not fit for breakfast.'

Aislinn shrugged, but kept her mouth shut for a moment as Beki returned bearing coffee and tea for the table. 'The usual, guys?' she asked Connor and Murphy as she poured their coffee for them. The nodded, and Beki smiled at Linn. 'And for you?'

Hesitation, then 'Do you have cinnamon rolls?'

Beki winked. 'Only the best.' And Aislinn nodded, which sent Beki back on her way again. She opened poured hot water over the teabag in her cup, leaving it to steep as she got back on the subject it was obvious the brothers, Connor at least, wanted to avoid.

'Murph,' the darker haired twin looked up from doctoring his coffee with a couple packets of sugar. 'Look, I know you two aren't saints, that there's something going on. I don't know what, I have an inkling, but I'm not going to say anything. I owe you guys, so don't worry, I'm not going to go shout it from the rooftops or anything.' Connor was looking hard at her, and she calmly met his gaze.

'What we do, Aislinn…' he grimaced and reconsidered. 'We'll talk later, okay? You've got enough on you're plate without worrin' 'bout us.' She shrugged again, turning her attention to her tea. Murph leaned over to whisper in Connor's ear.

'Keepin' secrets from yer girlfriend ain't wise, Con.' Connor caught the smirk on his brother's face and replied in the same hushed tones 'Shuttup, Murph.'

.-.-.-.

contented after breakfast the three headed back to the MacManuses apartment, Connor carrying a little Styrofoam box containing a cinnamon roll for his Da, at Aislinn's insistence. The elder MacManus had been quiet and reserved since her arrival, perhaps more since their prior connection had been revealed. Connor and Murphy had admitted to her that he had been spending more time out of the apartment in the few days she'd been there. Aislinn felt guilty about displacing the old man, and was hoping the cinnamon roll would be some sort of a peace offering. Feeling that she'd overstayed her welcome put her a little ill at ease, but something else was adding to that now.

Even though she'd only smoked for a short time while she was away in California, the need to to focus on something else was overwhelming her. At a crosswalk she pestered Connor for a smoke, to the amusement of Murphy. She took a short experimental drag on it, trying not to cough. God, they were still awful. She looked away from the brothers, who were trying not to laugh at her. Her heart stopped as her eyes swept the opposite corner of the intersection. She coughed, and almost lost her cigarette as she tried to recover her voice. 'He…' she croaked, and the brothers instantly turned serious, 'He was in church.' Murphy rolled his eyes as Connor looked across the road to the man Aislinn was trying not to stare at.

'Aislinn, I think most of this neighborhood goes to that church.' Connor told her, trying to reassure her. The man across the street looked perfectly ordinary, nothing marked him as being out of place. Aislinn, looked back at Connor, disbelieving.

'No, he was in church. Came in late, sat in the back, didn't go up for communion. He…'

'Could've been sick, could've been going through RCIA, I mean, Aislinn, there's a hundred things that could've kept him in his pew.' Aislinn's argument was cut off as Murphy started to cross the street, Connor grabbing her arm and towing her along in step with him. 'You don't know, and you can't go around jumping at shadows.' Aislinn looked up at him, feeling as if she'd just been scolded.

'But…' she said lamely, but Connor gave her the same look that her father used to give her when she'd decided to pursue a dead argument. 'Fine, maybe you're right.' She conceded, sighing. Connor wrapped an arm around her shoulders, nodding at her feigned acceptance. Aislinn fought the urge to look over her should the last two blocks to the ramshackle apartment, but gave in as Connor held the door open for her.

'Its nothing, Aislinn.' He told her again, getting a sulky look in reply. He sighed, and followed her up the stairs. She had a right to be frightened, but whenever they did get out of the house, she did jump at shadows. Maybe it was time to call an old friend and get his help with the situation. He'd know what to do to help Aislinn out. That idea would return to him later, when Aislinn's concerns would prove not to be unfounded.

.-.-.-.


End file.
